


Monochrome

by DeathBelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Biracial Relationships, Black!Marco, Blood, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homosexuality, M/M, Mentions of Jearmin, Officer!Jean, Paramedic!Marco, Pretty much everything is Explicit, Racism, Violence, police!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 117,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein has devoted five years of his life to the Trost Police Department. During that time he has been a model officer. He's never even fired a shot while on duty; until now. </p><p>Now there's a seventeen-year-old dead kid and his blood is all over Jean's hands. The lawsuit alleges that it was a hate crime and the kid was only shot because of his race. Now the entire city seems to think Jean is a killer and a racist, and he's not only in danger of losing his job, but may even be facing time in prison to atone for the kid's death.</p><p>Exiled from his duties, pressured into therapy, and caught in the cogs of the court system, Jean's nerves are stretched so thin that they may snap at any moment. It doesn't help that he's going through a rather unpleasant breakup because of the shooting, either. At least his patrol shift has his back; especially the surprisingly sympathetic Eren Jaeger, whose solution to life's problems is to fuck them - quite literally. He also receives unexpected support from the unlikely source of Marco Bodt, the new paramedic who just transferred from Jinae.</p><p>Everyone is watching, and if the stress doesn't kill him, Jean is sure there are plenty of people in town who'd be more than willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, another Police!AU. Does anyone else see a pattern here?
> 
> Thanks to[ Rojixus ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rojixus/pseuds/Rojixus) for giving me the idea. I couldn't _not_ write it. 
> 
> Before you begin reading, take note of the "Racism" tag. There's going to be more than a little discrimination, implied and explicit, so if you're easily offended this probably isn't the fic for you.
> 
> Also, this is written from the perspective of police officers. If you're one of those people who hates the police on general principle, this probably isn't the fic for you, either. The only time I jump on the "Fuck the Police" bandwagon is when it's meant quite literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another Police!AU. Does anyone else see a pattern here?
> 
> Thanks to[ Rojixus ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rojixus/pseuds/Rojixus) for giving me the idea. I couldn't _not_ write it. 
> 
> Before you begin reading, take note of the "Racism" tag. There's going to be more than a little discrimination, implied and explicit, so if you're easily offended this probably isn't the fic for you.
> 
> Also, this is written from the perspective of police officers. If you're one of those people who hates the police on general principle, this probably isn't the fic for you, either. The only time I jump on the "Fuck the Police" bandwagon is when it's meant quite literally.

His ears were ringing. It was all he could hear, the high-pitched sound of silence, splitting his head and fueling his panic. He felt himself breathing, heavy puffs of air ghosting over his tongue, but he couldn’t hear it. People were screaming, and he knew it, but the sound just didn’t reach him.

He didn’t expect to live another two minutes, anyway. His heart was pounding so quickly against his chest that it would surely stutter to an exhausted stop soon.

Someone shook his shoulder, the grip nearly tight enough to bruise. Finally a sound filtered through the concrete barriers blocking his ears, so distant that he wasn’t completely sure he heard it at all.

“Jean!” It was quiet, just an echo. “Jean, stop it, it’s too late! Get up, we need to- Hey! I said back the hell off! This is a fucking crime scene!”

Some part of his brain understood, and a fuzzy link was made from the static voice to the face of Eren Jaeger. He recognized it, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Jean! Jean! 401, 404, we need you here right fucking now. Ten-fucking-forty, now!”

The next voice was closer, nestled snugly in his ear, filtering directly through the speaker wired to his radio. 

“Ten-four, en route. Stop panicking.”

“Don’t tell me not to panic!” shouted Eren, and this time the voice was clear, present, sliding into focus. “Ten-thirty-eight, Captain. A fucking ten-sixty-two. We need you here _now_.”

“Shit. Clear the area, I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Ten-four. Hey! I said to back the fuck up, all of you! Right fucking now!”

Other sounds were seeping in along with Eren’s commands, shouts and wails and voices raised in sheer agony. 

“Headquarters, 402, ten-ninety-seven.” This time the voice in his ear was female, equally as familiar, but still Jean couldn’t react. He couldn’t react to anything. He wasn’t sure he was even there, if time was actually passing or if he had always been frozen in the same spot.

“Eren, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, he won’t fucking move! Lady, I told you to back up _now_.” There was a snap, the sound of a boot crunching on gravel. “I swear to god if you don’t move right now I’ll tase the shit out of you.”

“My son!” shrieked a female voice that Jean didn’t know, an equal mix of sorrow and anger wrapping the scream. “My son! You killed my baby!”

“Five seconds!” shouted Eren. “Four! Three!”

“Jean.” This time the grip on his shoulder was tighter. There would definitely be a bruise. “You have to move. We have to get these people away now.”

He tried to answer. His mouth was already open, sucking in harsh breaths of air, but no words came. 

“Two!”

“Jean.” Fingers were waving in front of his face but he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see anything.

“One!”

“Jean!”

There was a click, the buzz of electricity. The woman’s scream was intensified threefold, scraping an octave higher in pain. 

A hand snapped across Jean’s face, pitching his head to one side. He inhaled sharply, righted himself, and finally saw Mikasa kneeling in front of him.

“Are you with me?” she asked, the extreme edge in her voice the only indication that anything was wrong. “Talk.”

“Yeah,” said Jean, his voice more of a croak. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Stop trying, it won’t do any good. He’s dead.”

Jean looked down and realized his hands were covered in blood. 

It was still warm.

He was on his knees in the gravel, a body stretched out in front of him. The corpse was dressed in a white shirt that now sported a scarlet starburst. A bullet had torn through the middle of his chest. Jean supposed he must have been putting pressure on the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. 

“Headquarters, 404,” said Eren, still wielding the taser even though the cartridges had been expended. A middle aged woman was lying on the ground, shaking from the aftershock of the electric current. Two barbs were hooked in her abdomen, attached to the taser in Eren’s hand by twin wires. “Where’s that fucking forty-seven? Send another one, we have another subject down.”

There was a crowd of about twenty people, men and women pressing too closely, eyes gleaming with open hostility. 

Mikasa stood and moved to Eren’s side, staring down the mob. 

“Everyone will move back immediately,” she said. Her voice was loud enough to be heard, but her approach was different than Eren’s. She didn’t have to yell because there was so much fatal acid dripping from her words that there was no doubt it was a threat. “If you refuse, you will be arrested. If you resist, you will be subdued.”

“The three of you against all of us?” asked one of the onlookers, his face furrowed into a furious scowl. “You fucking pigs wouldn’t dare.”

Mikasa met his challenge unblinkingly. “Then step up and see.”

Her complete confidence made the man falter.

On the ground a few feet away from the corpse, the tased woman regained enough control to start wailing again. She flailed around until she flipped onto her stomach, then started crawling toward the dead kid.

“Eren, detain her.”

He moved to obey, but the same man who had spoken up sidled out of the crowd, stepping between Eren and the howling mother.

“You just murdered her fucking son!” the man screamed. “Leave her be!”

“You need to stand down!” said Eren, matching his tone. “Do it now or you’ll be arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“Try it, pig.”

Eren’s hand went to the pouch on the back of his belt, snapping it open, but Mikasa’s voice stopped him.

“Wait. We need to diffuse, watch for a ten-ninety-three.” 

Eren’s eyes went to the crowd, who were pressing in even more closely, their anger boiling. “Sir,” he said, trying to get a handle on his volume. “I need you to step back now. We need to clear the area so we can conduct an investigation of-”

“I know just what your fucking investigation will say,” said the man, raising his voice even more to be heard over the woman’s continued moaning. “It’ll say it was self-defense, right? That’s what it always says. Racist fucking pigs are always right.”

Eren’s hand twitched toward his gun. “You son of a-”

“Stop it!” said Mikasa, stepping forward to grip his wrist. “Not now. We can’t-”

“My son! My boy, my son, you killed him, you killed him-”

All the sounds blurred into a deafening din of confusion and Jean started to lose track of what was happening. He tried to keep his eyes on the situation but they kept straying to the dead man at his feet, the source of the blood that soaked him halfway to his elbows, the blood that had stained the knees of his dark blue pants, the blood that was staining his vision with crimson no matter where he looked.

A strobe of red and blue lights surged into view, fixed atop an Explorer that took the corner so hard that the tires keened. It lurched forward and barely missed Mikasa, who didn’t even flinch. The vehicle came to a sudden, solid stop with its bumper a foot away from the crowd of angry onlookers, all of them leaping backward to avoid being struck.

Captain Levi was out of the vehicle as soon as he threw it in park, assessing the situation with a sweep of shrewd eyes. His gaze lingered on Jean, who stood slightly away from his comrades, obviously dazed. 

“You,” he said, pointing at the man who was still acting as a barrier between Eren and the grieving mother. “Away from the crime scene _now_.” His voice was the edge of a guillotine, slicing through the man’s resistance and sending him stumbling away to meld back into the crowd. “All of you stay where you are. We’ll be getting statements from each of you. If you come any closer you’ll be arrested. I’ll take all of you in at once, I don’t give a fuck.”

Though the people still appeared enraged, they didn’t seem keen on disobeying the captain’s command.

“Mikasa, watch them,” said Levi. “Eren, get that woman sitting upright on the curb. The ambulance will be here in thirty seconds, I passed them on my way. Jean, call the chief and tell him to get his ass out of bed, we need him.” He pressed the button on the radio that was clipped near his collar. “Headquarters, 401. Ten ninety-seven. Confirmed ten-thirty-eight.” He dropped to one knee and pressed a hand against the fallen man’s neck. “Confirmed ten-sixty-two. Forty-seven arriving on scene. 405, get here now.”

Behind them, taking the turn much more slowly than Levi had done, was a pair of ambulances approaching like a caravan. They pulled to the opposite side of the street and then began backing closer, strategically placing the rear doors for accessibility. 

Ten seconds later four men were rushing forward, the two from the first ambulance swooping in on the dead man. The first paramedic from the second ambulance went to tend to the woman who was still screaming at Eren. The second broke away and rushed to the group of officers who were staring down the crowd as if waiting for them to attack.

“Are all of you okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“Check Jean,” said Mikasa, pointing him in the right direction. “I think something happened to him.”

The paramedic obediently stepped over to Jean. He was upright but clearly dazed, his eyes slightly out of focus.

“Officer? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It was the same thing that he’d said to Mikasa, the only thing he could say.

“You don’t really look fine.” He whipped a miniature flashlight out of his pocket. “Look at the light, follow it with your eyes.”

He clicked it on and Jean winced away from the brightness, slapping at the man’s hand. 

“I’m fine! Get that out of my face.”

“Kirschtein!” snapped Levi. “I told you to call Erwin, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I think he’s gone into shock,” said the medic, reaching out to take a pulse from Jean’s bloody wrist, tight black gloves protecting him from exposure. 

“God-fucking-dammit.” Levi pulled his cell phone out and started dialing as another police car whipped into the lot, sidling beside the captain’s vehicle and forming an even more solid barricade between the crowd and the corpse. As a woman stepped out, Levi said, “Annie, take pictures of everything. Then when they move the body take more. Once it’s out of here all of you start taking statements. See who actually saw it and who is just here to fucking rubberneck.” His head tilted slightly. “Erwin, it’s me. You’re going to have to get over here, it’s a fucking catastrophe. We’re going to need Hanji down here too for a full internal investigation.”

There was a pause on the other end. Jean didn’t know what was being said, but even in his dazed state he didn’t miss the way that the captain’s eyes flashed toward him.

“Kirschtein,” said Levi, turning away. Another slight pause. “Yeah, the guy’s dead. I don’t know yet, just get here.”

He hung up and turned to Jean, who still had the paramedic hovering around him like a moth.

“Come on, Kirschtein. You’re sitting in the back of my car until we get this worked out. You, medic.”

“Oh, uh, it’s Marco.”

“Yeah, whatever. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any physical damage, but I can’t tell if-”

“Hey, Kirschtein.” Levi slammed a palm into Jean’s shoulder, forcing him to take a shuffling step back. 

“Ow, what? I said I’m fine.”

“You look like a damn zombie.”

Marco’s partner was walking the tased woman to the back of the ambulance and she had started screaming again. “My baby! You killed my baby! Pigs, murderers, you fucking killer!”

The last sharp word was meant for Jean, and it hit him like shards of broken glass.

“Go sit in the back of my car and wait,” said Levi again, demanding Jean’s attention. “Don’t do anything, don’t talk to anyone. Major Zoe is on her way, she’ll have to get a full statement from you for the investigation. I’m not going to bother with your fucking rights, but do you want a lawyer here? You can call one if you want, you know that.”

Jean shook his head numbly. He had asked that question hundreds of times. Somehow it sounded different now that it was being directed at him. It sounded wrong.

“No, of course not. I’m fine.”

“Not doubting you, Corporal. Just following policy.”

Just following policy. Because that was all that mattered now. Annie was snapping pictures of a dead kid, the paramedics were watching with practiced detachment, and Jean was the victim of a cluster of murderous glares, but all of those details were irrelevant. 

“Yes, sir,” said Jean, because he knew that was what he was supposed to say. “Do you want my gun now?”

That was policy, too.

“Just get in the fucking car.”

Jean nodded, and as he walked away he vaguely heard Marco talking to the captain.

“…mental evaluation,” said Levi. “He’ll have to have it soon, it’s-” 

“Policy,” whispered Jean, his lips framing the word. 

The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he approached the Explorer. Before he could open the door a voice in the crowd shouted, “Racist pig!” 

Another chimed in, “Killer!”

That was all the prompting that the others needed. The crowd devolved into a chorus of accusations, “Murderer” and “Motherfucker” and “Hick”. 

Jean was in such a state of disconnect that the last insult was the only one that fully registered, and he found himself considering how ridiculous it was. 

Levi shoved him back and flung open the car door. “In. Now.”

Jean complied and climbed into the Explorer. He wondered why Levi drove such a big vehicle. His size was much more befitting of an Impala or a Charger.

The captain shut him in and Jean was left sitting alone, the sounds of the crowd muffled by the sealed SUV. Mikasa had approached the group and was attempting to separate them into two smaller clusters, more than likely those who had witnessed the incident and those who had arrived afterward. Levi stepped in to assist her and the two of them managed to calm the civilians. They were still irate, arms flailing with dramatic gestures and eyebrows sharpened into angry Vs. 

Jean thought it was entirely possible that none of this was truly happening. He’d had his fair share of traumatic experiences during his time on patrol. Maybe something in his brain had finally snapped and he was imagining everything.

Maybe it was just a dream, the ones that are so vivid that it’s impossible to separate them from reality.

As the night wore on, though, he could no longer disillusion himself with potential alternatives. 

It had really happened. 

He was a killer, and that was a stain that nothing could wipe clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are appreciated, especially those concerning my writing style as I'm always looking to improve.
> 
> I'll be updating this fic every Friday until it's finished. As of right now I've completed 20 chapters and I'd estimate that's maybe around halfway through, so it's going to be a pretty long ride. Let me know your opinions, I'd love to hear them!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta, so if you ever notice any mistakes please point them out so I can fix them. I a little bit of a perfectionist so I don't want any bad grammar floating around in my fics for the whole world to see. 
> 
> I appreciate the response I got to the first chapter. It seems that most of you are interested in the premise of this fic. Some of you not so much. I suppose I can't please everyone. 
> 
> Again, I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions on this fic if you'd like to share them!

“Jesus Christ, does that phone ever shut the fuck up?”

Jean was stationed at a cluttered desk with his hands over his face, trying to keep himself from flinging the telephone across the room. It just kept ringing, a high-pitched, insistent trill that made his left eye twitch.

“Just answer it, Jean, I’m helping someone!” called Sasha over her shoulder, turning back to the pane of bulletproof glass that separated her from the man in the lobby. 

“Fuck.” Jean reached for the phone slowly, hoping that whoever was calling would hang up before he answered. He wasn’t that lucky. “Police Department.”

“Yeah, hi, I need to speak with Officer Springer. He was here on a call a couple of days ago.”

“He’s not working right now. He’ll be back tomorrow on night shift.”

“Okay, well, could you give me his cell number? It really can’t wait.”

Jean closed his eyes and rested his forehead in his palm. “No, I can’t give you a police officer’s personal phone number.”

“Why not?”

Jean opened his mouth to tell the woman exactly why not, but remembered the way that his ass had been chewed the day before when he’d accidentally told someone to fuck off. Instead he gently placed the phone back on the base, ending the call.

Sasha spun in her chair to face him. “Did you just hang up on someone?”

“Umm… maybe.”

The phone started ringing.

Sasha’s eyes narrowed into a glare before she reached for it. “Police Department.” She listened for a moment, expression not softening. “Yes, ma’am, I apologize. We’ve been having some problems with our phone lines recently…”

Jean rolled his eyes and looked back at his computer screen. 

He had been stuck in the office for almost a full week and every day of it was a little more miserable. He knew it could have been worse. At least he wasn’t suspended without pay. That wasn’t much of a consolation, though, when he had a stack of expungements that he had to clear out of their archived police reports and another pile of citations that needed to be entered into the database. 

This wasn’t police work. This was a damn secretary’s job.

“Kirschtein.” Levi leaned through the doorway, scowling at Jean’s obvious inactivity. “Chief’s office, now.”

With that he was gone, his boots clomping loudly down the hallway.

Jean heaved a sigh and stood, ignoring Sasha’s persistent glare as he left the office. 

The police department was fairly compact. All of the different branches were bundled into the same building with Vice as the only exception. Their main office was away from the department so the undercover officers wouldn’t be seen frequenting the police department and inviting public suspicion. 

The Chief’s office was on the second floor along with the Investigations Division. Jean hoped he could at least avoid running into any of the detectives. Patrol and Investigations tried not to consort with one another if at all possible. The investigators all thought they were the shit while the patrol officers were the ones who did the _real_ work.

Technically Jean spent a majority of his free time consorting with one investigator in particular, but that one was an exception.

Luckily the hallways were clear and Jean came to a stop outside the Chief’s office without being forced to engage in unwanted conversation. He politely knocked on the wall next to the open door and waited for permission before entering.

Whenever he was summoned to the Chief’s office it always gave him nostalgic flashbacks to the handful of occasions in which he’d been sent to the principal’s office in his younger days. It was the same lurch of nervous anxiety, of inferiority, of knowing that the person he was about to come face-to-face with had authority over his future. 

Chief Smith was seated behind his desk, which was built as sturdily as the man himself. He was much more intimidating than any principal Jean had ever seen. The Chief’s sleeves were pushed back to expose forearms that were almost as thick as Jean’s calves. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and Jean dropped into the one that was unoccupied. Captain Levi hardly glanced at him, sitting with his arms folded over his chest and a decidedly bored expression. 

“How are things going, Corporal?” asked Chief Smith, studying him over steepled fingers. 

“Other than seeing my face plastered all over the five o’clock news everything is just peachy,” said Jean. “Thanks for asking.”

“You shouldn’t watch those reports,” said Erwin, his stare hardening. “They don’t know what happened. Obviously they’re going to draw conclusions and make inaccurate assumptions, but you can’t take it personally. If you allow it to affect you then things will just get worse for you.”

“I’m not taking it personally,” said Jean with a shrug. “It’s just annoying is all. It doesn’t really bother me that much.”

If he felt like curling up in a corner and sobbing every time he heard his name on the news, well, that wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to share. He was a cop. He didn’t have the luxury of surrendering to emotional pain. 

The Chief looked unconvinced, but continued. “Well, Corporal, you’re here because I received the results of the psychiatric evaluation you went through last week.”

A few sarcastic remarks vied for Jean’s attention but he kept his mouth shut, waiting.

“Turns out you’re a fucking lunatic,” said Levi. “Get your bags packed. You’re going to be institutionalized for a while.”

“ _What_?” Jean was on his feet, looking back and forth between them. “You can’t be serious! There’s no fucking way that I-”

“He’s kidding, Jean,” said Erwin, as gently as he could manage while still talking over him. “Everything was fine, you’re normal. Please, sit.”

“Right. Sorry, Chief,” mumbled Jean, dropping back into the chair and glaring at Levi. “So can I go back on patrol now?”

“Not quite. Major Zoe has mostly concluded her investigation but there are some pressing issues that must be dealt with first.”

“Like what?”

“The dead kid’s mom is suing the shit out of the department,” said Levi. The statement was matter-of-fact, but the words carried a bitterness that was unmistakable. “She says he was unarmed and defenseless and you shot him because he was black.”

Jean wanted to be outraged. He wanted to stand up and shout that everything the woman said was a lie. But he was too shocked to move, too appalled to try and defend himself.

“The witnesses at the scene told similar stories,” said Erwin.

“But I gave Major my statement,” said Jean. “I told her what happened. It was the truth, I wouldn’t just make shit up. I wouldn’t have shot him if he hadn’t…”

He trailed off, suddenly unwilling to even think about that night, much less talk about it. Every time his thoughts started straying in that direction all he could see was a crimson sheen of blood; and eyes, hundreds of eyes, all watching him. 

He swallowed hard and tried to shake off the shudder that coiled around his spine like a python. “I had to do it. If I hadn’t…” 

His voice failed him again. He stared down at his hands, trying not to remember what they’d looked like covered in blood.

The Chief responded despite the broken statement. “We know that, Jean. All of us are on your side, of course. We just have to prove it in court and everything will be fine.”

“Court?” repeated Jean blankly.

“Did you really think all of this was just going to disappear?” asked Levi, his tone sharing a similarly abrasive quality with sandpaper. “You can’t shoot someone and just pretend it didn’t happen. Especially since you went and killed him. Couldn’t you have shot him in the leg or something?”

“Levi.” The single word was a warning, punctuated by Erwin’s piercing stare.

The Captain rolled his eyes and started again. “It’s not going to be a huge deal. Sure, the media is going to blow it out of proportion since it’s the first time a cop has killed anyone here in the past ten years, so congratulations on breaking the dry spell…”

_“Levi.”_

“What I mean,” said Levi, “is it’s going to be kind of tough, but we’ll get through it. You’ve been on the stand before. This time it’s just for yourself.”

“They have my report, though,” said Jean, desperate to reject everything he was being told. “Everyone knows what happened. I don’t get why this has to even go to court. Do they really believe them over me? I mean, I’m a cop. People are supposed to believe cops.”

“It’s not a matter of who they believe,” said Erwin. “You know how court works. We just have to convince them that it was a justified shooting beyond a reasonable doubt. Since it truly was, we can do it easily. We’ll pull the footage from your body camera and show it in the courtroom. That will close the case and you can go back on patrol.”

“After a few weeks of counseling,” Levi tossed in. “You’re starting that tomorrow.”

“Counseling?” asked Jean, his face twisting in distaste. “You can’t be serious.”

“You caused someone’s death,” said the Chief gently. “You were just doing your job, but it can still take a heavy toll. It’s only a few sessions to ensure that you’re coping properly.”

“I’m coping just fine. It’s not like I’m sitting around being all depressed over it.” He hadn’t gone a single night without waking up in a cold sweat, the sound of a gunshot echoing in his ears, but he didn’t consider that depression. It would pass. He’d get over it. “I don’t need any of that therapy shit.”

“All the same, you’re going to do it,” said Erwin, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s policy.”

“Policy,” mumbled Jean. “Of course it is.”

“Like Levi said, you’ll begin tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours. You’ll be getting paid to go. At least it will get you out of the office for a while.”

Jean hated the office, but would rather spend an extra month there than be forced into therapy where some crusty old man would try to pry nonexistent suppressed feelings out of him. 

“Well I guess I don’t have much of a choice, right?”

“Now you’re getting it,” said Levi, sinking back in his chair. “Just give them the typical story. You feel bad, you have nightmares about it, but if you had it to do all over again the same thing would happen because you were doing your job and you didn’t have a choice.”

“Sounds like you’ve rehearsed that a little too much, Captain,” said Jean.

It was meant as a joke, but Levi’s reaction suggested that was not how he interpreted the remark. His face went so cold that Jean felt the kiss of an arctic breeze on the back of his neck. “What the fuck did you just say, Kirschtein?”

“Nothing, Captain, nothing. I didn’t mean-”

“When you go to therapy,” said Erwin, cutting off the exchange before it could escalate, “just tell them the truth. It’s confidential, so anything you say will be kept private. Maybe it will just be a waste of your time, but then again, maybe it will help. You never know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know if you have any questions. Now get back to the office. Since Krista is off this week Sasha is stretched thin trying to get everything done. She needs your help.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jean, reluctantly standing. “Thanks, Chief.”

Again he was lucky enough to dodge the Investigations division as he returned to the first floor. He started to step back into the office just as someone else was leaving and the two of them nearly collided.

“Hey!” he said, stumbling back. “Watch where you’re—Oh, uh, hey, Mikasa.”

She eyed him coolly, expression unchanging. “I was looking for you.”

“Chief needed to talk to me. About stuff.”

Mikasa didn’t respond. She raised a hand to tuck back a lock of chin-length hair. The General Orders dictated that an officer’s hair had to be worn in such a way that it didn’t touch the back of their collar. Mikasa had complied by shearing off most of her hair rather than bothering with an updo. It was extremely short in the back, tapering into a slightly longer cut around her face. 

Jean thought she was beautiful. The situation was sort of like straight girls claiming they had a “girl crush” on another female. Mikasa was his girl crush, not that he’d ever admit it.

He knew she would never be anything more to him than his sergeant and his friend, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a moment to appreciate her physical appeal. While still being slightly scared of her at the same time.

“Did you need something?” he asked when it didn’t appear that she was going to speak.

“Levi said your case is going to court.”

“Uh, yeah. Looks like it.”

Her frown deepened a little. “When?”

“Don’t know yet. I would guess a week or two.”

She nodded, averting her gaze. “I’m sure we’ll get subpoenaed, too.” A breath skipped by and still she didn’t look at him. “It’s not going to be easy for you. If you need anything ask. All of us have your back.”

It was a rather brusque sentiment but coming from Mikasa it was as if she’d poured out her soul. Jean swallowed and nodded, dropping his gaze to his boots. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mikasa.”

She sidestepped and started past him but paused at the end of the hallway. “Eren and Annie care, too,” she said, glancing back at him. “They’re just not good at expressing themselves.” 

It must have been in the fucking water, because apparently everyone suffered from that epidemic.

Before Jean could thank her again Mikasa disappeared around the corner, surprisingly light on her feet considering the twenty pounds of gear weighing her down. With a sigh Jean stepped into the office and immediately wished he’d hidden in the bathroom instead. Sasha seized him as soon as he was in sight and steered him to one of the windows where a line of people waited with particularly impatient expressions. 

Jean took a moment to curse his constant misfortune before opening the slot in the window and pretending to care about the problems of the waiting civilians. 

He hated working in the office and he would whine about it until he suffocated beneath the complaints, but internally he was pleased he hadn’t been cut off from working completely. All the time that he spent at the PD was time he wasn’t sitting at home alone. The first few days after the shooting he’d been exiled from the PD while the Chief decided how to handle the situation. When it was decided that he would return to work on light duty he’d been secretly relieved. 

Those first few days hadn’t been good for Jean. 

Because when he was alone he couldn’t keep himself from thinking, and these days his thoughts were the last place he wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week:
> 
> Meet the boyfriend and the therapist.
> 
> Neither of which Jean is particularly pleased with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean proves that denial is not just a river in Egypt.

The next day Jean went to therapy, as Chief Smith had instructed. The session lasted for an hour and a half. Jean felt that it was quite possibly the most unbearable ninety minutes of his life.

He sat slumped down in one of the chairs facing Dr. Brzenska’s desk. When he’d tried to pronounce her name upon his arrival she’d interrupted, stating simply, “Just call me Rico.”

Jean supposed she was just trying to be polite, but he couldn’t help but feel it was demeaning that she assumed he couldn’t figure out how to say her name properly. The fact that he didn’t have a fucking clue was irrelevant.

The first half of the session had been spent on Jean’s life in general. His friends, which took a few minutes; family, which required even less; and coworkers, which he could have gone on about for hours. He kept it brief, though, monitoring what he said with care. He knew that there was some sort of confidentiality agreement between a psychologist and her clients. That didn’t mean that he was just going to pour out his soul and trust that Rico would carry his secrets to the grave.

He didn’t give anyone that much credit, especially not someone who was getting paid god-knew-how-much to sit and listen to people whine all day.

“Alright,” said Rico after they had exhausted the small talk. “Let’s discuss what happened on the night of the shooting.”

Jean leaned his head onto the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Do we have to?”

“Come on now, Jean,” said Rico. He ground his teeth together at the sound of his name in her voice. “From what I hear you haven’t really spoken to anyone about it. It’s not healthy to keep all that bottled up. Think of it as dropping Mentos in Coke. If you just leave it then it will fizzle and expand until the bottle explodes. That’s what’s going to happen to you. You’ll keep all of this to yourself and it will keep getting stronger until finally you just explode.”

Jean knew what she was implying, but he got hung up on the metaphor. Did she think he was such an idiot that she had to compare his situation to Mentos?

“I’m not keeping it to myself,” he said. “I told Major Zoe about everything that happened. Every last detail. I would call that sharing.”

Rico shook her head, a crease appearing between her brows as she frowned. “Did you tell her the facts or how you felt about it?”

“It’s a police investigation. It doesn’t fucking matter how I feel.” He glanced at Rico as he said it, hoping she would flinch from the profanity, but she was overtly unaffected.

“It does matter,” she said, calmly refuting him. “That’s what matters the most, for your sake.”

“That’s bullshit. He’s dead. Nothing’s going to change what happened.”

“It won’t change,” she said, “but we can change how it’s affecting you.”

“It’s not affecting me,” he said, the words rolling off of his tongue so smoothly that they almost sounded true.

“Jean, you killed someone. I find it hard to believe that it’s not bothering you at all.”

“Well believe it.” He opened his mouth to continue down a conversational path that Rico probably wouldn’t approve of, but remembered what Levi had said in Erwin’s office the day before. “I mean, I wish I hadn’t been forced to do it. I wish there had been another way, but there wasn’t. I did what I had to do, and if I had it to do all over again, I’d do the same thing. Because it was the right thing to do.”

Jean thought it was an impressive statement. Apparently Rico thought otherwise, because she spent the next half hour trying to pry deep emotional feelings out of him, to no avail.

When he finally got back to the PD he was actually relieved to see Sasha despite the stack of paperwork she shoved into his arms the second he walked through the door.

“It’s about time!” she said, flinging her hands into the air the second they were free. “I thought you’d dropped dead on the side of the street somewhere. Come on, hustle, we have work to do!”

Jean wanted to kick her in the shin, which was an improvement on his prior urge to throw Rico out a window.

Rather than arguing, he sat at Krista’s vacant desk and started sorting through the paperwork that had been forced on him.

He worked until five o’ clock, which was only about five hours of actual labor, but he felt like he’d been there for a solid week. A full twelve-hour shift on patrol was much more bearable than half that time behind a desk.

When he left the building he was relieved to see Armin’s Sentra parked across the street, waiting for him. He waited for a break in traffic before he jogged across the asphalt, rounded the bumper of the car, and launched himself into the passenger seat.

As if he wasn’t pleased enough, the first thing Jean noticed as he shut himself inside the Nissan was the smell of Chinese takeout. He craned his head to see the bag sitting in the backseat, the irresistible aroma wafting from the plastic like delectable nectar.

“Thank god,” said Jean, tearing his attention away from the food and taking in the amused face of his boyfriend. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“That bad, huh?” said Armin, complying with Jean’s request and gently accelerating out of the parking spot.

“Yeah, that fucking bad.”

“Therapy or work?”

“Both.”

They allowed the conversation to lapse and ten minutes later Armin’s careful driving delivered them home safely. Armin rented a small house on a suburban city street, the home nearly identical to the others that lined the road. He pulled into the driveway and Jean couldn’t suppress a surge of disappointment to find that the paved strip was otherwise empty aside from Armin’s unmarked Crown Vic. Jean’s cruiser should have been there, too. It would have been there if the Chief hadn’t made Levi retrieve it up and lock it up with the spare vehicles. It had to be done, though, while Jean’s case was under investigation.

It was policy.

Jean got out and slammed the door, not noticing that the impact made Armin wince. He waited for Armin to retrieve the food from the backseat and followed him up the steps to the door. Jean had been staying there with Armin for a while, though he hadn’t yet started referring to the neighborhood as his ‘home’. Technically he still had his own apartment downtown, a few blocks away from the PD. He hadn’t spent a night there in over a month, but his lease wasn’t quite up yet so he figured he would just keep shelling out rent until it expired and he officially moved in with Armin. Breaking the lease would have been just as expensive.

The two of them ate on the couch, takeout boxes littering the coffee table in a delicious disarray. A reality show was on but neither of them were watching. The TV was just a source of background noise so that the silence between them was somewhat masked.

When Jean had eaten as much Chinese food as he felt he could handle without puking, he stabbed his chopsticks into an empty box and discarded it on the coffee table. “Oh man,” he groaned, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. “I think I’m going to die.”

“You always say that, and you haven’t died yet,” said Armin, smiling as he rose to gather up their mess. 

A few minutes later all remnants of their dinner had been cleared away and the two of them were on the couch together, pretending to watch the banal show that still played. They sat close, but weren’t touching. Armin kept glancing sideways at Jean, waiting for him to speak. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to, Armin did it for him.

“So tell me about therapy,” he said, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume on the TV. “What did you talk about? How was it?”

“It sucked,” said Jean, his eyes not leaving the screen. “It was a waste of my life and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay… well, did you like your therapist? Rico’s seen some of the guys in investigations after they’ve been through some things. They all said she helped them out.”

While Jean did in fact despise most of the investigators, Armin was the sole exception. He’d worked patrol for only a year before being drafted into the investigations division, which was for the best. If Jean was being honest, Armin was by no means cut out to be a patrol officer. He was brilliant, but his skills were better utilized as an investigator.

“Well they’re all idiots,” said Jean. “The only thing Rico is helping is her bank account.”

“Jean, I’m sure that’s not true. She wouldn’t be the city’s go-to psychologist if she wasn’t good at her job.”

“Whatever. She’s sure not helping me any.”

“Just give it a chance,” said Armin. He reached out to lightly grip Jean’s hand. “I’m sure after a few more sessions-”

“I’ll jump off a fucking bridge,” said Jean, yanking his hand away. “It’s bullshit, all of it. All she wants to talk about is how the shooting made me feel, like I’m supposed to feel shitty about it. Well you know what? I don’t. I don’t feel anything.”

“Jean,” said Armin, his voice dipping into a whisper. “You don’t mean that. I know you feel bad about it.”

“Why would I? I didn’t do anything wrong. I know you read the report. Do you think I was wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

Unbelievably, Jean’s mouth twitched into a hard, bitter smile. It twisted uncomfortably, not reaching his eyes. “Well,” said Jean, “that tells me exactly what you think, then.”

“Jean, stop it. That’s not what we’re talking about.”

“But it should be. Do you think I made a mistake? Do you think I’m a fucking racist, too?”

“Jean, stop it. I just-”

“Answer the question, Armin. Do you think I was wrong?”

“No,” he said, “if it happened the way you say it did then-”

“ _If_ ,” Jean repeated, the single word slicing the air like a blade. “ _If_ I was telling the truth. Because you’re not sure. You think that I was just out on patrol and decided I wanted to know what it felt like to shoot someone.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I guess if it had been you in that situation you would’ve just let him kill you,” said Jean. “You would’ve stood back and let it happen. Then you’d be the one everyone is mourning. Better to be the casualty instead of the killer, right?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.”

“That’s _not_ what I’m saying, Jean.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to stop pretending not to care because I know you, Jean. I know you care more than anyone. You need to tell Rico how you feel so she can help you.”

“I don’t need her help,” said Jean, his voice sharp. “Aren’t you listening? I don’t need help from anyone. I just need to get all this shit behind me so I can do my job again.”

“With that attitude,” said Armin quietly, “I’m not so sure that you should be an officer at all.”

This time Jean’s expression was genuine, a mask of outrage that painted an angry flush across his cheekbones. “What?” he said, teeth clicking together as he enunciated the single word. “What did you just say to me?”

“This isn’t how it should be, Jean,” said Armin, reaching for his hand again. Jean pulled away before he even made contact. “You should want to learn from this experience so it doesn’t happen again. You’re just brushing it off so you don’t have to think about it and that’s not getting you anywhere.”

“There’s nothing to learn from. I didn’t have a choice. I’d do it again.”

“This isn’t you, Jean. This isn’t you at all. I don’t know if you’re just saying this because you’re trying not to feel guilty about the shooting, but you-”

“I don’t feel guilty about anything!” said Jean, his voice rising. “There’s nothing to be guilty about! I did the right thing. I did the _only_ thing. You would’ve just stood there and let the asshole kill you, but I’m not willing to do that.”

“Jean, please, let’s just sit down and talk about this.”

“I’m done talking.”

“But you haven’t said anything! This is the first time you’ve even mentioned it to me and it’s not healthy to keep all of that to yourself.”

The statement reminded Jean of Dr. Brzenska, and he felt his irritation spike.

“I just want you to talk to me, Jean, please. I want to understand you.”

Armin still had one hand extended, reaching out to Jean, face beseeching. A slice of blond hair had fallen in his face, cutting a neat line down the center of his forehead. Jean felt something like regret lurch in his chest but then it was gone, easily replaced by anger.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he said, turning away. 

“Jean, please.”

“I’ve told you a hundred fucking times, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you’re ever going to get over this you need to-”

“There’s nothing to get over!” he shouted, spinning to face Armin. “Nothing! Not a damn thing! Look at me, I’m fucking fine! So you and Chief and Captain and everybody fucking else can just back the hell off, okay? I’m fine. I’ve said it a thousand fucking times, and I’m still fine.”

Armin’s expression was that of a kicked puppy.

“I just want to help you,” he said softly. He let his hand fall back to his side, giving up on physical contact. “You’re clearly not fine. You haven’t been acting right lately. Not like yourself.”

“Well this is me,” said Jean, spreading his arms. “This is all me. If I’m not good enough for you then feel free to move on.” 

Without waiting for a response he stormed off, stomping into the bedroom where the closet had been divided in half to accommodate his clothing. Most of his hanging attire consisted of police uniforms. Just looking at them made Jean want to vomit.

He grabbed an armful of street clothes, fished some underwear out of a dresser drawer, and crammed it all into a duffel bag that was usually employed for the purpose of hefting around his SWAT gear. He threw the bag over his shoulder and marched back through the house, not looking at his boyfriend when Armin staggered to his feet in shock.

“Jean, what are you-”

“I’m going to stay at the apartment tonight. You’re not going to shut up about this and I can’t handle it. I’m sick of this shit.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Armin, circling the couch and catching Jean by the arm before he could swing open the front door. “It’s not a big deal. I won’t say another word, I promise.”

Jean shook his head. “You know you will. You just won’t stop. I don’t know why anyone won’t fucking stop.”

“It’s because they’re worried!” said Armin, stepping closer and planting a hand on the door. “Everyone is. I am. Even if you don’t admit it, I see you every day and I know something has changed since it happened. You’re different. It’s made you different and I just want to help you.”

For the first time that day, and maybe the first time that week, Jean turned his head and made direct eye contact. Armin expected to see the same anger that wrapped Jean’s voice, or a touch of the same defensiveness that he wore like armor. 

None of that was present.

“I just need some time by myself, okay?” said Jean, the rage leaking out of his voice as if swirling down a drain. Without it he just sounded exhausted. “I’ll see you later.” He shook off Armin’s grip, gently plucked the slender hand away from the door, and stepped out onto the porch.

Belatedly Armin followed, stumbling over the slight decline from the threshold to the wooden slats beyond. “You don’t have a car,” he said, watching Jean cross the lawn rather than stepping on the paved driveway. 

“I’ll walk,” said Jean over his shoulder. “It’s not far.”

Armin stood helplessly on the porch and watched him go until he turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from view. Jean’s apartment was halfway across the city. It would take him at least half an hour to walk there.

Armin almost started forward, intending to hop in his Sentra and go fetch Jean before he got too far, but stopped himself. 

Maybe Jean really did need some time to himself. Armin didn’t see Jean very often at the PD, but he still knew that everyone there was in Jean’s face all day long. They were all just worried but he knew Jean wouldn’t interpret the attention that way. 

Reluctantly Armin stepped back into the house and closed the door. He grabbed his cell phone off the arm of the couch and made sure the volume was all the way up in case Jean tried to call, even though he had a feeling that he wouldn’t hear from his boyfriend until the next day. He’d been worried about Jean for a week, but all that concern had tripled when he’d finally looked at him, _really_ looked.

Despite his callous façade, Jean had been affected by the shooting.

He was in pain, and Armin didn’t know how to fix him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren't a big fan of Jearmin don't be distressed. This is the most Jean/Armin interaction that you're going to get. That's why it's not included in the tags.
> 
> If you are a Jearmin shipper, I'm sorry I can't accommodate you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren fucking Jaeger, everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do normal people curse this much? If not I'm so sorry I'm subjecting you to these idiots' constant pottymouths.

The next day was Friday, which would have normally been a source of relief for Jean since he was working normal business hours. Maybe it would have been comforting if he’d gotten any sleep at all the night before and if he hadn’t been forced to sit through another hour and a half of therapy that morning.

His time with Dr. Brzenska was spent fielding a barrage of personal questions that felt like dodging cannon fire. She was obviously disappointed in his lack of effort, but he didn’t give even the smallest fuck. 

He finally managed to pry himself away and spent the next seven hours stuck behind a desk. It was dull and boring and much like Jean envisioned the status quo in Hell. Sasha kept barking orders at him like a bossy canine and every time she told him to do something he slowed down a little more. By the end of the day his speed was that of a crippled slug. 

“You’re about useless,” said Sasha, straightening the items on her desk as she prepared to leave. “I don’t know how you’re an officer since they have to actually _do_ something when they’re working patrol.”

“Not that you would know,” he snapped back, “sitting here all comfy in the office all day.”

Sasha had just grabbed for her purse. Her grip tightened around the strap and she glared over her shoulder with the heat of an inferno. “Fuck off, Jean.” It was the first time that he’d heard Sasha curse and it caught him by surprise. She swept out of the room before he could react and he just chalked her irritation up to bad manners and a long forty-hour work week. He knew that the bad manners part was accurate. Anyone who’d seen Sasha eat knew that she inhaled her food like a rabid animal.

Jean stood up from the desk chair, which was padded, but not nearly enough. After sitting in it for more than thirty minutes he felt like he was sprawled on a rock. He pressed his hands against his lower back and stretched. His spine popped in three places. He felt like someone’s grandfather.

He locked the door to the office since Sasha had stormed out without bothering to do so. Five o’clock was the turning point of shifts, both administrative and patrol. As Jean stepped out the front door of the PD and onto the sidewalk a cruiser sliced by, just arriving for its shift. The front windows were rolled down and Jean saw Bertholt inside, waving briefly at Jean as he cut into the PD parking lot. Jean had stopped thinking about the patrol schedule but he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that shift 3 was on duty. His own shift had just finished up a stretch of days. It was time for them to have a short break.

Jean knew his boyfriend wasn’t waiting for him. Armin had gone back from his handful of days off and was back on a long shift. Still, Jean couldn’t stop himself from glancing across the street, automatically looking for the Sentra. It wasn’t there. In its place was a lifted red Chevrolet, a tanned arm dangling casually from the lowered window. 

Jean recognized the truck. He snorted at the audacity of the vehicle and started walking. His apartment was about ten minutes away but it wouldn’t be a bad trip at all compared to the journey from Armin’s house the night before. It had started raining when he was halfway there and he’d had to dry out all of the clothes in his duffel bag with a hair dryer. 

Before he’d gone ten steps a car horn blared, making Jean jump. His hand went automatically to his right hip, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. He spun around to find the owner of the truck flipping him off. Jean returned the gesture, but then the rude hand beckoned him over. 

Jean thought about ignoring him and walking away. Then after a short internal debate he sighed and crossed the street, circling to the passenger side of the truck. The tailgate was spattered with what most people would assume to be those fake stickers that looked like bullet holes.

They weren’t stickers.

Jean slung the truck door open and glared up into the cab. “The fuck do you want, Jaeger?”

Eren peered at him over the top of mirrored sunglasses. “Get in, bitch. I’m taking you home.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Hey, I’m just doing what I’m told. Mikasa said to come get you. Apparently your boy called her and said he was worried about you or some shit like that. So just get in.”

Jean continued to scowl but the expression was covering up a measure of guilt. He’d treated Armin pretty badly the night before and after all that his boyfriend was still looking out for him. 

Of course, it wasn’t entirely Jean’s fault. Armin didn’t know when to quit. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled. He heaved himself into the truck with more effort than should have been required to enter a vehicle. He slung the door closed and crossed his arms, glaring through the windshield.

“Seatbelt,” said Eren.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m a safe driver.” 

“You could plow into this thing with a fucking tank and it wouldn’t even have a scratch. I don’t think I need a seatbelt.”

“Just do it.”

Jean huffed, but did as he was told. When he was buckled Eren started the truck with a deafening roar of the diesel engine.

“Your dick must be the size of a breadcrumb,” said Jean, curling his lip at the truck. 

“Nope,” said Eren. “This isn’t compensating. I bought the Chevy because I like my trucks the way I like my men. Big and solid, with a lot of thrust.”

Jean slapped a hand over his face and turned to look out the window. As Eren pulled onto the road air gusted into the cab of the truck like a maelstrom. Jean could feel his hair suffering but there was no help for it. He knew if he asked Eren to turn the air on instead he would be rewarded only with a sarcastic comment.

It took just a few minutes for Eren to reach Jean’s apartment complex. Rather than dropping him off at the door he wheeled into the lot and parked directly in the center of four parking spots, blocking all of them. 

“You park like an asshole,” said Jean. “Which really isn’t all that surprising.”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have a car,” said Eren. He killed the motor and pulled the keys out of the ignition, which made Jean raise an eyebrow. “When are you going to get one, anyway? You can’t seriously just be planning to let Armin drive you around for the rest of your life.”

“Well no, apparently you’re going to be driving me around, too.”

“Fuck that. This is a one-time favor, Kirschtein. Don’t get used to it.” He kicked his truck door open and hopped onto the pavement. 

Jean scoffed, shoved the door open, and jumped out. It was so high off the ground that the impact jolted through his calves. If the truck was any taller it would have to come equipped with an elevator.

Eren had already started walking across the parking lot toward the front of the building. Jean jogged after him. “What the hell are you doing? You drove me, thanks. Go home.”

“Come on, dude. You’re supposed to invite me in. That’s the polite thing to do.” 

“What do you know about being polite?”

“Can I come in or not?”

Jean narrowed his eyes at Eren, trying to figure out his motive. They’d been on the same shift for about a year. Other than the continuous disagreements and never-ending stream of insults they got along fairly well. Any time they’d spent together outside of work had been with the rest of their shift. Neither of them had ever felt the desire to bond on their own.

“Sure, whatever. But if you’re here to raid my fridge you’re out of luck. There’s literally no food here.”

Eren was undeterred. They reached Jean’s third-floor apartment after a short elevator ride that would have been more comfortable without the screaming child and its mother who piled into the elevator car with them. 

Jean was somewhat relieved that he was gay. At least he was never going to accidentally knock someone up and have to deal with a snotty, whiny brat.

He looked at Eren and felt that the similarity between Jaeger and the child was uncanny.

Jean let Eren into his apartment and kicked the door shut, toeing off his shoes on the mat. Eren followed his example and stood just inside the doorway, studying the notably vacant interior of the apartment. Then, predictably, he went straight for the refrigerator. 

“I told you I don’t have any food.”

“Nope,” said Eren, “but you have beer. That’s even better.” He snatched a can out of the fridge and popped it open.

“Just help yourself,” said Jean, rolling his eyes. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, you want one?”

Jean almost declined. When he’d first started at the PD it had been his custom to have a beer or two each time he got home from a shift. Since he’d moved in with Armin, though, his alcohol intake had become extremely limited. It wasn’t because Armin disapproved, although Jean thought that secretly he probably did. It was just that Armin never drank, and Jean felt awkward drinking alone.

But Armin wasn’t there, and if Eren wasn’t good for anything else he was at least a decent drinking buddy.

“Yeah, sure,” said Jean. A can was flung in his direction and Jean caught it before it collided with his forehead. 

Eren strode across the room and sprawled on the couch, bending a knee to prop one foot on the cushion and leaving the other hanging off the edge. Jean followed him and sat on the opposite end. He strategically tilted his can toward Eren as he cracked it open, hoping that if it spewed he would be spared the worst of it. There was no spurt of beer, however, and he took a long, cold sip. The taste of beer on his tongue was surprisingly satisfying. 

“This place is a ghost town,” said Eren, pointing out the lack of furniture. The couch was the only seating left in the apartment. Its only companion was TV perched on a dusty table.

“Last night was the first time I’ve slept here in a month,” said Jean, taking another drink. “I had to turn my pillowcase inside-out so I wouldn’t choke on the dust.”

“You shouldn’t have walked out on your boy,” said Eren, shrugging. 

“He wouldn’t shut up.”

“Was he pointing out all your personality flaws? Because, to be honest, that list goes on forever.”

Jean aimed a kick at his shin but Eren pulled back before he made contact. “Shut the fuck up, Jaeger.”

“Come on, I’m kidding! Okay, I’m really not. But hey, I feel you. I wouldn’t want to hear it either. But then again, he’s not my type, like, at all.”

“Not your type?” Jean repeated. “How could he not be? Your type is anything that has a dick and a pulse.”

“What the fuck ever.” Eren tipped back his beer. “It’s nice that you guys are dating or whatever, but it’s gross. I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking. The bastard went over to the dark side. Fucking investigations.”

Eren had been personally offended when Armin had accepted the new job position. Everyone on the shift had heard him complain about it at least a couple hundred times. It had been over a year and he was still bitter. To Jean’s knowledge Eren and Armin’s friendship had gone up in smoke. Armin still spoke with Mikasa on a regular basis but Jean knew that he and Eren no longer communicated. Jean also knew that it was Eren’s bad attitude that had caused the fractured friendship, which wasn’t really a surprise. 

“So why aren’t you at his place instead of this shithole?” said Eren.

“He wanted to talk about my feelings and shit like that. As if I don’t get enough of it in the stupid fucking therapy Chief’s making me go to.”

“Dude, therapy is shit. Doesn’t help anything. If you can’t fix your problems on your own then they’re not getting fixed.”

Jean agreed. They sat quietly for a moment until Eren said, “So you’re doing alright then? With the shooting and everything?”

Slowly, Jean turned his head to look at Eren. “Are you shitting me right now?”

“I’m just asking,” said Eren, defensive. “We’re on the same shift. If you’re fucked up then that’s bad for the rest of us.” He paused, frowning down at the beer in his hand. “And Mikasa wanted me to try and talk to you since you won’t talk to Armin.”

“Oh my god.” Jean stood and pointed to the door, the rest of his fingers still wrapped around the beer can. “Get out.”

“Come on, dude, don’t be like that.” Eren was obviously not inclined to move. “He’s worried about you. You know he’s _really_ fucking worried if I actually agreed to do this. But, you know, I don’t blame you for not talking to him about it. Somebody like that just wouldn’t get it. I mean, he’s never done a shady thing in his life. Except, you know, abandoning his fucking shift. He can’t really relate.”

“As if you can?” snapped Jean. “I killed someone. It’s not like you ever…” He trailed off, realization slapping him in the face like a suckerpunch. “…Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” said Eren. He crushed his empty can in his fist and offered it to Jean. “Hey, get me another one while you’re up.”

Jean should have told Eren to go fuck himself, but instead took the can and walked it back to the kitchen to drop into the garbage. He retrieved another beer from the fridge and carried it to the couch, handing it to Eren before sinking back into his seat.

He’d been so caught up with his own issues over the past week that he hadn’t had a spare thought for anyone else. No one currently working for the PD had ever killed anyone on the job with the exception of Levi, and Jean wasn’t stupid enough to try and have a heart-to-heart with him. 

Eren had never killed anyone on duty, but he had killed. It had been a while back, before Jean had known him, but he’d heard the story several times from different sources. He’d never heard it directly from Eren, though. It was always secondhand information.

“Armin told Mikasa some of the shit you said,” said Eren. 

“He should’ve kept his mouth shut,” Jean grumbled, uncomfortably aware of just how rudely he’d spoken to Armin. “I didn’t mean anything I said to him anyway. I was just mad.”

“So you didn’t mean the part about not feeling anything?”

Jean glared at him.

“Hey, it’s cool,” said Eren. He pulled his other foot onto the couch and sat cross-legged. “Emotions are shit anyway. You know what I felt when I killed those guys all those years ago?”

Jean shook his head, trying not to seem too interested in the answer. 

“Satisfaction,” said Eren. “Those assholes deserved to die for what they did. For what they were trying to do.”

Jean found himself on edge, waiting for Eren to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“I wasn’t there when you shot that guy. My response time to the call was about seven minutes after yours. I think I got there a minute after the shot went off though, maybe less.” Eren frowned, one corner of his mouth curving downward. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re the only one who was there. Nobody else knows what went down, so don’t listen to their shit. I’ve worked with you for a long time, Jean. If you fired a shot it was only because you didn’t have a choice. I’ve got your back.”

That was surprisingly touching coming from someone as blunt and brash as Eren Jaeger. Jean shrugged it off and tried not to take it to heart, although he couldn’t help but feel a little soothed by the sentiment. It was like balm on a third-degree burn, a nice contrast to the sappy, touchy-feely shit that everyone else had been spewing at him. 

Eren didn’t care if Jean talked about his feelings. Eren already knew how he felt, because unlike everyone else, he’d already been there. 

“Thanks, Jaeger,” he said, staring down at his mostly empty beer. “You’re being less of an ass than usual.”

“It comes with the beer,” said Eren, tilting his can toward Jean. “Makes me a nicer guy.”

“Then you should never sober up.”

“Fuck you, Kirschtein.”

Eren didn’t stay much longer. After he finished his second beer he went on his way, unwilling to drink too much since he had to drive back home. Jean locked up behind him and plopped back down on the couch, resigned to an evening of dull boredom since Armin would be on duty late.

Even if Armin hadn’t been working, Jean wasn’t positive he would’ve been spending the night with him, anyway. Eren had been right about one thing. Armin had never done a bad thing in his entire life. He’d seen some of the things that Jean had, but since his time in investigations he’d seen all of it secondhand. He was never there for the initial impact, only the aftershocks. Armin didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

And Jean was tired of trying to explain himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not time for the weekly update but I'm posting this one as an extra since the next few chapters are kind of short. They'll progressively get longer, just bear with me.

Jean woke to the smell of bacon. He cracked his eyes open, convinced that the scent was a lingering effect of his dream. He hadn’t been dreaming about food, though. He’d dreamed about eyes, hundreds of them, watching him. He’d dreamed about darkness and screaming and blood.

He sat up, cringing at the hazy images that stuck to the contours of his brain. The bed squeaked beneath him as he moved. His toes touched the carpet and he stood, a little unbalanced from the fog of sleep. He was only wearing a pair of boxers but didn’t spare his near nudity a second thought as he shuffled to the bedroom door.

When he pushed it open he found Armin bustling around the kitchen and a stack of Styrofoam containers perched on the counter. Armin was rummaging through the cabinets like he belonged there. Jean didn’t know what he was searching for but was positive that he wasn’t going to find it; not in Jean’s apartment. The only thing readily available was a sparse selection of beer and an outdated box of Froot Loops.

With a huff Armin abandoned his search and turned back toward the island counter, eyes widening as he found Jean watching him from the bedroom doorway. “Oh, uh, Jean. Good morning.”

It was too early for Jean’s social filter to be functional. When he opened his mouth what fell out was, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Armin looked as if a steamroller had just flattened his feelings.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” said Jean, backtracking. He crossed into the kitchen, the linoleum cool against his bare feet. 

“You gave me a key,” said Armin, “a long time ago. Before you started staying with me. Don’t you remember?”

Jean didn’t, but he nodded anyway. He was certain that if Armin said he’d done it, he had. Armin wouldn’t lie about something like that.

“You brought breakfast?” he said, moving to examine the warm Styrofoam.

“Yeah, I stopped at a drive-through,” said Armin, his cheeks brightening. “I was going to lay out some nice plates but I can’t find any.”

“That’s because I don’t have nice things.”

“Maybe I should’ve brought some from our place. I have a set that my grandpa gave me when I moved out.”

Jean frowned down at the food, the smell less appetizing than it had been a few moments before. “It’s not _our_ place, Armin. It’s yours.”

Armin looked slightly taken aback. He rubbed at the back of his neck, ruffling the blond hair that he’d allowed to grow out since he’d become an investigator. “Well sure, but… it could be. You know, if you wanted. Most of the time you stay with me anyway. I know you’ve been thinking about doing it when your lease is up, but if you wanted to go ahead and move in that would be okay. I don’t mind. I like having you there.”

Jean should have been flattered but the spot where that sensation should have blossomed was filled with an aching sort of hollowness. He reached for the top container and flipped it open. It was full of bacon, the kind that was too chewy. If he picked a piece up it would flop around like a limp dick.

He nudged the lid shut and tried the second one, which was brimming with yellow fluff masquerading as eggs. 

“Jean?” said Armin, the tentative voice just behind him. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” 

The next was biscuits. 

“What do you think? Do you want to?”

A chill crawled across Jean’s skin. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was nearly naked. It wasn’t as if Armin hadn’t seen him in less, but it felt different. Uncomfortable. “I don’t think so.”

There was a beat of silence, the heavy kind that hardened in Jean’s throat and tried to suffocate him. 

“Oh, uh… okay, that’s fine. You can just keep your place and I’ll keep mine and we’ll just visit. Maybe still spend the night sometimes, if you want. That’s good too.”

Jean didn’t look at Armin, but he didn’t have to. They’d dated long enough for him to envision the expression on Armin’s face. He was hurt by Jean’s rejection, eyes lowered, lips slightly puckered, brow creased with faint lines that suggested concern. Jean felt bad, but he couldn’t make himself retract the words that had caused the damage.

Instead he made it worse.

“I don’t think I should do that either,” he said, the words careful, measured. He was still turned away, staring down at the small stack of biscuits as if they offered the guidance of a magic 8 ball. “Not anymore.”

This time the silence stretched on longer, until Jean was certain he would burst from the strain.

When Armin finally spoke the words were shaky, fractured.

“Oh… okay. If you think… yeah.” He paused for breath and the inhale was audible. “J-Jean, are you saying… do you want… are we breaking up right now?”

Jean squeezed his eyes shut and braced his palms against the counter, lowering his head and shielding his face with loose strands of ashy hair. He was overreacting. This was a stupid thing to ruin a relationship over, especially one that had lasted for six months. That was the longest span of time that Jean had spent with anyone. His other partners found him too abrasive, too hard to deal with. He’d always been the one who was abandoned. He couldn’t do that to Armin. Armin was kind and generous and smart. He would be stupid to throw that away, absolutely fucking insane…

But Jean thought of the conversation in Armin’s living room. He thought of his boyfriend trying to pry at the edges of his feelings like he was picking at a scab. If he succeeded there would be blood.

It was bad enough for Jean to endure the rest of the world judging him, accusing him, drilling into him for information that he didn’t want to think about. He couldn’t take Armin doing the same when he was home. He couldn’t spend that much time thinking about it or he would lose his fucking mind.

“Thanks for breakfast,” said Jean, the words tight, tense. “You should get some rest. It’s not good for you to stay up this long after a night shift. You don’t do well with no sleep.”

He could still hear Armin’s inhales. They had become shaky, unsteady. “Sure, okay. I’ll just… I’ll do that.” The last syllable cracked and Jean felt like he’d been slapped. “B-bye, Jean.”

Light footsteps plodded across the linoleum floor. Jean kept his head down.

The front door swung shut, but not before a squeaking sob slipped back into the apartment, cutting through Jean like a knife. His legs gave out and he sat on the cold floor, knees pulled to his chest, hunched over in a ball. He didn’t cry. He knew he should feel upset that his relationship was over, but the only sensation he had was guilt that he’d hurt Armin. 

Eventually he dragged himself back to his feet and gathered up the Styrofoam containers. He unceremoniously dumped them into the trash and returned to his room, flopping down on the bed and crawling beneath the covers.

He felt bad for Armin, but he was also slightly relieved that he no longer had a boyfriend who would be burrowing into his life, trying to pretend he understood Jean’s troubles. He would rather hurt Armin than continue to be hurt himself, and that was one of Jean Kirschtein's biggest problems. 

He was selfish.

Jean knew it, and he accepted it. He curled up in the fetal position and pulled his pillow over his face, hiding in his self-induced solitude. 

Maybe this was for the best. Maybe the reason he always ended up alone was because he was better off that way. 

He stewed in his own thoughts for a while and they inevitably strayed to the impending court date that hadn’t yet been set. It was going to be hell. Seeing his picture on the news was bad. Hearing the reporters comment on what they believed had happened during the shooting was worse.

At least that was one good thing about living in the apartment by himself. He didn’t have cable. They could say whatever they wanted and he wouldn’t have to hear any of it.

Not until he went to court and had to defend himself like a common criminal. He shouldn’t be on that side of the court room. He belonged on the side of the condemners. 

He rolled over, the motion much like a thrash. 

Major Zoe was collecting the data from his body cam. It would be all the proof they needed that he’d just been doing his job. It would show exactly what had happened. It would show the man… no, he wasn’t really a man. He’d been more of a boy, a thin, gaunt boy who had…

Jean swallowed past the lump in his throat and kicked off the covers, suddenly so uncomfortable that he could hardly stand to be in his own skin. The flesh on his hands crawled and he scratched at his knuckles, writhing around and trying to find a bearable position. 

After a while he got up and went to the living room, sprawling on the couch instead. He automatically looked around for the remote, then reminded himself that it wouldn’t do any good. He laid back on the somewhat lumpy cushions and stared at the faded white ceiling. He thought about the sound of static, tried to let it drown out the hiss of his thoughts and fill his brain with white noise. 

It didn’t quite work, but it did put him at ease enough to allow him to drift back into sleep. These days sleeping was much easier than being conscious. Jean tried his best to sleep the entire weekend away and Monday morning came much too soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know me at all then you know this fic is going to be the slowest slow build that has ever been built.
> 
> You've been notified.

Despite the fact that Jean had spent ninety percent of Saturday and Sunday either in his bed or on the couch, when he struggled out of bed on Monday morning he looked like he hadn’t gotten any rest in a week. Maybe it was because every time he fell asleep he dreamed of eyes and blood and shadowed voices hissing his name.

He went into work like a zombie, barely sparing a grunt for anyone who greeted him. When he stepped into the office he stood and stared at his desk for a full minute, trying to figure out why someone was already sitting behind it.

“Oh, good morning, Jean!” Krista beamed up at him, her smile reflecting the radiance of the sun. Jean felt his lip curl. “It’s good to see you! I heard you’ve been helping Sasha out, thanks for covering for me!”

Jean looked over his shoulder at Sasha, who resolutely ignored his arrival. He moved past both of them and flopped into the lonely desk chair at the back of the room. When it almost threw him into the floor he realized why it had been discarded in the corner. He righted himself, trying to balance on the rickety seat, and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do all day.

Sasha answered that for him pretty quickly.

“Take this book,” she said, dumping an oversized binder in his lap, “and make sure all the citations are in numerical order. It’s ready to be filed away.”

Jean flipped open the front cover and scowled down at the first sheet. “This is from two years ago!” he protested. “Why hasn’t this shit been done already? Why is it my problem?”

“Because I don’t have the time and you’re just sitting on your ass anyway,” she snapped. “Just do it.”

Sasha could get a little aggressive at times but she was hardly ever that rude. Clearly she was still ruffled from their disagreement on Friday.

The best idea would have been to apologize for being an ass. Jean needed to settle the choppy atmosphere and make the day less miserable. 

So, of course, he instead sulked in the corner and flipped through a few hundred citations, reading the numbers at the bottom of the pages until they were just inky blurs. 

He was about three quarters of the way finished when Captain Dok stuck his head in the door and barked at Jean. “You, Kirschtein. Come with me, I need you to do something.”

Jean had never been happier to see Nile. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, leaping to his feet and snapping the book shut. He didn’t realize until after he’d already done it that he had just lost his place. “Fuck.”

“I don’t know how you got promoted to Corporal,” said Sasha, unimpressed. “You’re a complete idiot.”

Jean ignored her and shuffled after Nile, his legs stiff from inaction. 

“I figured you’d be at therapy or something,” said Captain Dok, glancing at Jean over his shoulder as he plodded down the hall.

“I’ll have to go tomorrow,” said Jean. “Then Thursday and Friday, too.”

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard,” said Nile, his lip curling. “I had to go a few years back when me and Ymir put that guy in the hospital. But c’mon, he was fighting and we had to subdue him. That’s how the job works. Therapy people don’t get that. They think we’re brutal. What the fuck ever, let them do it themselves if they have a problem. Right, Kirschtein?”

“Uh, right, sir.”

Nile drew to a stop at the front door of the PD, Jean hovering beside him. The captain slapped a thick manila folder against Jean’s chest. “Take this,” he said, “and deliver it over to dispatch. It’s the lineup for the rest of the week. The fax machine is fucked up.”

Jean thought that sending an email would be the best alternative, but chose not to mention it. Nile never wasted his breath on anyone who was on a different platoon, especially not the officers who happened to be on Levi’s shift. Jean wasn’t going to ruin a good thing.

“Yes, sir,” he said, resisting the urge to salute. That would be pushing his luck. “I’ll get it right over.”

“Take your time,” said Captain Dok, waving a hand lazily toward the street. “It’s not like you’re missing anything here. Being on light duty is hell.”

“You can say that again,” Jean mumbled, accepting that as his dismissal. He pushed the glass door open and stepped into the mild autumn morning. It was about an hour until lunch time. If he bided his time well enough maybe he could waste away those sixty minutes without having to do any of Sasha’s shit work. 

He strolled down the sidewalk with the envelope in his left hand, his right swinging freely at his side. Since he’d started working as an officer it had been drilled into his head that it was crucial to always keep his gun hand free at all times. Even though he wasn’t currently allowed to equip his Glock the habit still stuck. 

The dispatch base was only two and a half blocks away from the PD. The building had been recently renovated, which Jean thought was a waste. It wasn’t as if they needed a nicer place. All they did was sit on their asses all day anyway.

He tried not to draw the parallel between that and his current job duties.

He rambled along the street at a leisurely pace, appreciating that every minute spent in the fresh air was a minute he wasn’t glued to a desk chair. It was close to a quarter of an hour later when he approached the door and stepped toward the scanner mounted on the exterior wall. He stood with one hand on the door, waiting for it to beep. 

Nothing happened.

He was puzzled for a minute until he realized he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Cursing under his breath, he fished around in his back pocket until he found his key card and held it in front of the scanner. A high-pitched tone announced its acceptance and the door gave beneath his touch. 

When he was in uniform he carried the card in his breast pocket. The same type of scanner was built into the PD and the city’s schools so he could have access at all times. His life was made a little more difficult by the khakis and polo that he was forced to wear while exiled to light duty.

He slid the card back into his pocket where it fit snugly alongside his wallet and stepped into the building. The inside of the dispatch office was, in Jean’s opinion, fancier than necessary. Framed paintings lined the gleaming hardwood hallway, depicting local scenery and landscapes. He didn’t even glance at them as he made his way to the central dispatch room and shoved the door open. 

Inside there was a quartet of desks placed in a wide circle in the center of the room. They were arranged so all four of the working dispatchers could see one another. They were equipped with widescreen computer monitors and matching headsets. Three of the dispatchers were typing furiously, the other picking at her cuticles in boredom.

The inactive one glanced up at Jean’s arrival but dismissed him just as quickly, returning her attention to her fingernails. “Kirschtein,” she said, the acknowledgement heavy with disinterest.

“Hitch,” said Jean, a little peeved that he couldn’t remember her last name. “You look busy, as usual.”

“I’m dispatching for the medics today,” she said with a shrug. “No one’s dying, so it’s pretty slow. Maybe someone will have a heart attack soon and give me something to do.”

“Did you even hear how shitty that sounded?”

“Yeah, good thing I’m not trying to impress you, right?”

“Whatever. Here’s the lineup for the week,” he said, brandishing the folder. “You want it or what?”

“Give it to Marlow.” Hitch picked up a pointed nail file and gestured to the man sitting across from her. “It’s his turn to do it.”

“I did it last time!” said Marlow. He paused his furious typing to glare at her, fingers poised over his keyboard. “I do it every time.”

“That’s because you’re so good at it,” said Hitch. She reclined in her chair and tossed him a wink, going to work on her nails. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Marlow huffed and extended a hand toward Jean. “Fine, here, I’ll take it.”

Jean plopped the folder into his waiting palm. 

A booming voice filtered from the speakers perched on either side of Marlow’s computer screen, the tone familiar.

“Headquarters, 303.”

Marlow pressed a button on the side of his headset. “303, go ahead.”

“Ten eighty-one on a blue Honda Odyssey, no visible twenty-eight, heading eastbound on First Street. I’ll advise final.”

“Ten-four, 303.”

“Fucking Reiner,” said Jean, leaning over Marlow’s shoulder to watch him key in the notes. Marlow was obviously dispatching for the city police that day. “He’s watching that stop sign at First and Chestnut again. He’ll pull them over at Trost Park, he always does.”

Jean and Reiner had been on the same shift for the span of a few months and they’d always gotten along fairly well. Jean had been a little disappointed when they’d moved Reiner and stuck Jaeger on Shift 4 instead. 

Reiner’s voice boomed from the speakers again. “Headquarters, 303, final stop will be at Trost Park.”

“Told you,” murmured Jean, at the same time that Marlow answered, “Ten-four.”

“He’ll write them a ticket, too, for not having any tags,” said Jean, backing away a few steps to give Marlow some breathing room. “He’s top of Shift 3 for writing citations. Bert doesn’t want to upset anyone, Ymir doesn’t want to waste her time, and fucking Connie just doesn’t do his damn job.”

“From what I hear,” said Hitch, “Jaeger writes the most for your shift. He’s doing more work than you, Corporal. That’s pretty embarrassing.”

“He’s overzealous,” said Jean with a shrug. “He needs to calm the fuck down.”

A garbled voice peppered with static made Hitch sit up straight, her hand going to the side of her headset. “Go ahead,” she said, discarding her nail file. After a moment she rolled her eyes and picked it back up. “Ten-four, Medic Five.” Hitch shook her head. “Idiot,” she mumbled. “Hey, guys, the medics are bringing pizza. Pray that no one in this damn city needs an ambulance in the next ten minutes.”

“Thank God,” said the man to Hitch’s left. “I’m starving.”

“Whatever, Boris. You’ve had a snack every half hour since you got here.”

“Alright, as thrilling as this is, I’m going to head back,” said Jean. He’d prefer to take his chances with Sasha and Krista than stay in this cesspool. He could at least be grateful that his shift usually had a different set of dispatchers who actually knew what the hell they were doing. “Always a pleasure, Hitch.”

“Tone down the sarcasm, Kirschtein,” she said. “I’m a joy to be around. I light up people’s lives.”

“With fire and brimstone,” said Jean, snorting at his own joke. “Bye, guys.”

Marlow waved a hand without looking back, the other two men effectively ignoring him. Jean wasn’t overly offended. He hit the door with a sense of relief. Maybe if he walked back to the PD at a snail’s pace he would only have to linger in the office for a few minutes before he could have an hour’s escape. 

As he stepped out of the building an ambulance was backing into a parking spot just in front of him, the lights on the square rear panel flashing brightly. 

Jean wondered which medics were on duty. If he was familiar with them maybe he could snag a slice of pizza before he headed back to the PD. 

A petite woman he didn’t recognize hopped out of the driver’s side, tossing a dark ponytail over her shoulder. From where he stood, Jean couldn’t see the other occupant until he rounded the rear corner of the ambulance, a trio of pizza boxes balanced on his palm.

Jean didn’t know him, either, although something about the man was vaguely familiar. His hair was dark, textured with a bit of curl, and he was a few inches taller than Jean. His skin was dark, like rich caramel, and the freckles that dusted his face were even darker. All of these details, though, were secondary. The man’s most defining feature was his smile, which flickered on as soon as he saw Jean.

“Hey,” he said, pacing over to where Jean stood on the sidewalk. “You’re Officer Kirschtein, right?”

“Corporal,” said Jean. He immediately wished he hadn’t corrected him. It made him sound like an asshole.

“Corporal, sorry,” said the medic, his smile slightly wavering. “Have you been doing okay?”

Jean blinked at him, confused. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“I’m taking this,” said the woman, sweeping between them and snatching the pizzas away. She spared a look of disgust for Jean before marching into the building, the warm smell of pepperoni drifting along in her wake.

“Sorry about Mina,” the man said, shaking his head at her retreat. “She’s… yeah.”

“She looks like I killed her fucking puppy,” said Jean. “I’ve never killed a puppy in my life.”

Humans, on the other hand…

“I’m Marco,” said the man, thrusting out his hand. “Marco Bodt. I transferred here from Jinae a few months ago.”

“Jean,” he said in return, clasping Marco’s hand. It was notably warm, like it had been baking in sunlight. Must’ve been from the pizza. “How’d you already know who I am?”

When Marco took his hand back, he used it to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Oh, well, uh… I was on scene at the shooting. I met you there, but I guess you don’t really remember much of that.”

Jean’s stomach dropped. Why did _everything_ always have to lead back to the fucking shooting?

At least that explained why the woman, Mina, had prematurely decided to hate him. She’d been the one who’d had to scrape the dead kid up off the concrete. She obviously blamed Jean, just like everyone else in the city seemed to.

Marco didn’t appear to have the same reservations.

“Have you been doing okay since then?” he said, his eyes dancing over the planes of Jean’s face. “I think you went into shock a little but I didn’t have a chance to check you out properly.”

“You want to check me out?” said Jean. “Wow, Bodt, that’s pretty forward.”

Marco’s face darkened. “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I was just trying to say-”

“I know what you meant, I’m joking,” said Jean, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine. Physically, anyway. My new therapist may think differently of my mental capacity.”

Marco managed to smile through his embarrassment. “I doubt that. You seem pretty sane to me.”

“You also don’t know me very well.” 

“I don’t have to,” said Marco. “I can just tell.”

“Whatever,” said Jean. He shrugged and tucked his left hand in his pocket. The right one still dangled free. 

“You want some pizza?” said Marco, brightening as he remembered. “Sometimes we bring lunch to the dispatchers but there’s plenty for you to share, too.”

“Thanks, but no,” said Jean. “I’m on my way back to the PD. There’s an empty chair that needs an ass in it and I’m the only man for the job.”

Marco chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. “Okay then. It was nice to meet you, Jean. I mean, uh, Corporal.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. This guy had to be kidding.

“No one calls me that unless I’m on duty,” he said. He looked down at his clothes. “Clearly I won’t be for a while.”

“Right, sorry. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jean, shrugging as he walked away. “See you around.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next day Jean discovered that he was going to have to face the discomfort of Court sooner than expected.

He went to therapy that morning and listened to Rico ramble on about the problems of PTSD. Jean told her quite plainly that he wasn’t suffering from the disorder and she quite plainly ignored him and kept talking.

He walked back to the PD slowly. Rico’s office was about a twenty minute walk, which was fine with Jean because he wasn’t exactly thrilled to get back to the office, but it also reminded him that he didn’t own a car. It had never been a problem before. He drove to work and back in his patrol car and typically stopped by any stores he needed to visit on his way home from a shift. Now his police vehicle was gone and the only alternative means of transportation that he’d employed was Armin’s Nissan. He’d shot himself in the foot on that one. 

He hadn’t heard from Armin all weekend. There had been no calls or texts or contact of any kind, but Jean hadn’t been expecting any. He’d crushed Armin’s feelings beneath the heel of his boot. What more was there to say?

The awkward part was going to be retrieving his uniforms and other miscellaneous possessions from Armin’s house. He should’ve done that before initiating the breakup.

When he stepped into the office he stopped just inside the threshold. He couldn’t sit in his chair because it had been claimed in his absence. Connie sat on the lopsided seat, spinning from side to side, nudging Sasha’s chair with his boot. Sasha had a mouth full of cinnamon roll and had momentarily discarded her work in favor of Connie’s company. 

To Jean’s right, Krista was still dutifully moving through her paperwork, the typical soft smile still present on her face. Either she was always happy or she knew how to put on a good façade.

Considering how much time she seemed to spend with Ymir it was probably the latter.

“Get out of my chair, Springer,” said Jean, folding his arms and glaring at Connie. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else? Like maybe your job?”

“I’m taking my pre-lunch-break break,” said Connie, spinning in the chair to face Jean. “I need to take plenty of breaks to keep my mental acuity.”

“You don’t even know what acuity means.”

“Sure I do. It means I’m smart.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking moron.”

Connie shrugged, unbothered. “Whatever, dude. I know your shift just fucks around every time they’re on duty. At least Shift 3 knows what’s going on.”

“Between you and Ymir I’m surprised the fucking city hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Krista’s attention left her stack of paperwork but she didn’t comment.

“Connie is good at his job,” said Sasha, the smile she’d worn before Jean’s arrival having melted off of her face. “Just because he’s taking a break doesn’t mean anything. I know you don’t patrol for twelve straight hours when you’re on duty.”

“Don’t pretend to know anything about the job,” said Jean. “You’re in this office all day long. You don’t know what a real job looks like.”

Sasha’s glare was so heated that Jean was surprised his polo didn’t catch on fire. “I don’t know how you can be so full of yourself,” she said, eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You’re nothing special, Kirschtein. The only notable thing you’ve ever done is _killing_ someone.”

The statement was like a punch to the gut. Jean felt winded but made himself stand tall, as if he’d been unaffected by the jab. Connie was on his feet instantly, standing in front of Sasha to block her view of Jean.

“Hey, hey, let’s be cool,” he said, looking over his shoulder to include Jean in the sentiment. “There’s no need to tear each other’s heads off. We’re all in this together. We can’t do our job without Sasha and Krista, and they can’t do theirs without us. It’s a group effort, right?”

Jean had a few more choice things to say, but kept them to himself.

“Right,” chimed Krista, jumping on the bandwagon of tolerance. 

When Connie moved away Sasha didn’t look like she’d gained any extra composure from his attempt at peacemaking.

The office phone trilled and Krista answered it before Sasha could move.

“Police Department,” she chirped, her tone cheery despite the bitter atmosphere. “Yes, sir, right away.” She hung up and tilted her head up at Jean. “Chief needs you in his office. He says it’s important.”

“Great,” said Jean, employing sarcasm to conceal his relief from being given a valid reason to leave. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

He turned without acknowledging any of them, heading toward the stairs with a scowl. 

He tried to envision what Chief Smith wanted. Maybe Rico had called the chief and told him Jean was hopeless. 

Maybe the dead kid’s mom had dropped the lawsuit and Jean was going to get put back on patrol.

He crested the steps to the second floor and almost ran headfirst into Armin, who had turned the corner with his attention on the coffee cup held between his pale fingers. Both of them stumbled back and Jean flung out an arm, steadying himself on the wall before he tumbled backwards down the stairs. Armin didn’t look surprised; he looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Oh, uh… hey,” said Jean, the words halting and uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” Armin returned quietly, eyes flicking back down to his coffee. “Did Chief call you up?”

“Yeah,” said Jean. “Yeah, he, uh… yeah, he did.”

Since Armin wasn’t looking at him, Jean took the opportunity to scrutinize his ex-boyfriend’s face. He looked paler than usual, but maybe that was because of the fluorescent lights overhead. He had always avoided investigations so it was rare occasion that he’d even seen Armin in the office setting. His eyes looked tired, though, and Jean knew he was sporting dark rings of his own.

Armin’s lifted his eyes and Jean quickly looked away, focusing the empty hallway to his left. 

“It’s your subpoena for court,” said Armin. “I saw the deputy come in.”

“Oh,” said Jean, the knot in his stomach tightening a little more. “Great.”

“Yeah,” said Armin, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll see you.” 

He turned and started off along the hallway.

Jean intended to let him walk away but he found words spewing out of his mouth without his consent. “Hey, Armin?”

He paused and turned back, eyebrows raised. 

“Is it cool if I come by sometime after work?” said Jean. Armin blinked, taken aback, and Jean quickly continued, “To get my stuff, I mean. I know it’s probably in your way and I’m hoping I’ll need my uniforms pretty soon.”

Armin’s face didn’t change. “Sure, come by whenever you’d like. I’ll be home all evening.”

With that he turned and briskly walked away, not giving Jean a chance to say anything more. Jean clenched his jaw and mentally cursed himself for being so tactless. 

He continued to the chief’s office and found that Armin had been correct. A county officer was sitting in one of the chairs, speaking with Chief Smith as if they were old friends. 

“Jean, please come in,” said Erwin, waving him inside. “This is Dita. He’s a Sergeant with the sheriff’s office.”

Jean offered a polite greeting, trying to arrange his face into a semblance of cordiality.

“I’ve got your subpoena here,” said Dita, tapping the papers lying on the chief’s desk. He plucked a pen out of his pocket and scratched a signature onto the middle of the page. “You’ll appear Thursday morning at nine a.m.”

“Thursday?” said Jean, taking a step closer to eye the date on the paperwork. “Like, the day after tomorrow Thursday?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” said Dita. He ripped off the top sheet of paper and handed it to Jean. His duty accomplished, he stood and folded up the rest of the papers. “Good to see you, Erwin. Come by the office anytime.”

The two of them exchanged farewells. Jean heard them talking but didn’t register any of the words. He just stared at the piece of paper in his hands, his mind blank.

When a hand plopped onto his shoulder Jean almost jumped across the room.

“You alright?” said Erwin, eyeing Jean with concern. 

“Yeah, of course,” said Jean, shrugging him off. “Just surprised it’s this soon. I figured it’d be a couple of weeks at least.”

“This is a good thing,” said Erwin. “The sooner we go the sooner we can get this over with.”

Jean released a pent-up breath and nodded. “Right,” he said. “Good. Are you going to be there too, or…?”

“Levi and I will both be in attendance,” said the Chief. “We won’t leave you to handle this on your own.”

“Okay,” said Jean. “Yeah, good. Thanks, Chief.” He was pleased that Chief Smith was going, but absolutely relieved that Levi would be there, too. They’d had their share of differences but he knew Levi would have his back if it came down to it. 

“Just be prepared,” said Erwin. “It’s not going to be pleasant. There will more than likely be reporters, and potentially protesters. Make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I’ll be ready. Thank you, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short chapter. If I have time I'll post an extra one on Tuesday to make up for it. I meant to do that this week but didn't get the chance.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Jean felt okay when he left the Chief’s office. He felt okay as he went back downstairs and sat in the shade of Sasha’s pointed disregard of his presence. He even felt okay when Krista politely asked for his help and he accepted a stack of expungements to reduce the weight of her work.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, though, Jean had forgotten what it felt like to be okay.

There was no event that happened, no conversation or disagreement or comment that changed his attitude. It was a gradual progression, the anxiety creeping in like a toxic fog, infecting every cell.

He’d folded up the subpoena and put it in his back pocket. It was just a thin, frail piece of paper, but he could feel it. His thoughts never strayed too far from it before they were pulled right back in.

Jean walked home and he was lucky that he made it without getting struck by passing traffic. He thought of nothing aside from the imminent court date. It wasn’t until he went inside and realized that the smell of Saturday’s surprise breakfast had crept into the stale air of his apartment that he remembered what he’d said to Armin.

He needed to get his stuff from his ex’s house but he didn’t know how to go about it. Asking Armin to deliver it would not only be rude, but also blatantly demeaning. He tried to think of someone he knew who would be willing to drive him there and back, but came up blank. Most of his time was spent working. All of his friends were at the PD and he had never felt the need to branch out into other social circles. He’d pissed Connie off that day so he doubted he’d be willing to dole out any favors. Annie didn’t seem the type to offer a helping hand and Jean was no longer close enough with Reiner to ask him for assistance. 

Mikasa may have done it had Jean’s ex-boyfriend been anyone aside from Armin. The two of them were still close friends since Mikasa was rational enough to accept Armin’s career choices, unlike her brother. 

That led Jean to his only viable option.

When he called Eren he wasn’t specific about what kind of favor he needed. He only asked for a ride, stated that it would take approximately an hour total, and offered to buy him a pizza and a six pack for his trouble. That was enough to win him over and Eren showed up at Jean’s apartment half an hour later.

Jean climbed into the red beast of a truck and yanked the door shut behind him. Eren stared at him over the lenses of his sunglasses, eyebrows raised.

“Never thought I’d see the day when Jean fucking Kirschtein came crawling to me for a favor,” he said. The smirk that curled his lip made Jean want to punch him in the face.

“Shut the fuck up, you didn’t have to agree,” said Jean, folding his arms and glaring out the windshield. “Just drive.”

“Seat belt.”

Jean gritted his teeth and fumbled for the seat belt, stretching it across his chest with a huff.

Satisfied, Eren shifted into drive and they left the parking lot with a roar of the diesel engine. The windows were down again and Jean silently mourned the state of his hair.

“Where we headed?” said Eren, flipping down his visor to better shade his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“West Chestnut.”

It was a good thing Eren had a strict policy about seat belts. If Jean hadn’t been wearing his then he may have been catapulted through the window. 

Eren braked so heard that the tires screeched and the truck came to a halting stop in the middle of the street. Jean flung one hand onto the dash to steady himself and wrapped the other around the strap cutting into his chest. 

“What the _fuck_ , Kirschtein?”

“Fucking _drive_ , Jaeger, you’re in the middle of the fucking road!”

“I am _not_ taking you to your boyfriend’s house, asshat. I’m not going to his house _period_.”

“It’s not like that!” said Jean. A horn blared and he twisted around in his seat to see the driver of the car behind them shaking an angry fist. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. I just need to pick up my shit. It’ll take ten minutes, tops. You don’t even have to get out of the truck. I’ll buy you _two_ pizzas if you’ll just get out of the fucking road!”

Much of Eren’s angry expression was hidden behind his sunglasses, but something must have changed. His foot eased off the brake and they started forward again, the car horn still blaring behind them. Eren effectively ignored it and made a wide left turn at the next intersection. 

Jean slumped back against the seat, relieved that Eren was driving in the direction of Armin’s neighborhood. 

“You could’ve told me that when you called,” said Eren, his grip tight on the wheel. 

“I figured you wouldn’t do it.”

“You figured right, asshole.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” said Jean. “Like I said, it’ll take less than ten minutes. You don’t even have to help.”

“Well I’m definitely not helping,” said Eren. “My ass will be right here until you’re finished. And I’m getting fucking everything on those pizzas.”

Jean rolled his eyes. He’d expected nothing less.

When Eren made the turn onto West Chestnut Street he said, “If your shit is laying all over the yard I’m going to keep driving. I don’t need your boyfriend drama.”

“Whatever, Jaeger.” 

The truck slid to a stop in front of an impeccably well-kept lawn. None of Jean’s possessions littered the landscaping but he’d already known that wasn’t something Armin would do. No matter how awful Jean had been, Armin was better than that.

Jean unbuckled, reached for the door handle, and stopped. There was a quick twitch of the front blinds indicating that Armin had noticed their arrival. He’d probably heard the truck coming from a block away. It was then that Jean realized exactly how inconsiderate it had been for him to have Eren bring him here. It was rubbing salt in the fresh wound that he’d inflicted on Armin a few days before. Armin had been hurt by Eren’s attitude; he and Jean hadn’t been dating at the time, but Armin had told him all about it later. He had felt betrayed and now Jean had dragged Eren to his doorstep.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said, the words spilling without his consent.

“He broke up with you, get over it,” said Eren, fiddling with the radio. “The world goes on.”

Jean slapped at his hand, cutting off the shitty country station that Eren had paused on. “I’m the one who broke up with him.”

Eren’s eyebrows rose. “Why? You know you’re not going to do any better.”

“Thanks a lot, Jaeger. You’re a good friend.”

“Seriously, why?”

“Because I couldn’t take it,” said Jean. “We talked about this, remember? He won’t stop asking about the thing that happened and I’m sick of listening to it. I couldn’t stand the thought of having one more conversation with him that he manages to turn around on me. It’s fucking insane.”

“Investigators,” said Eren with a shrug. “It’s what they do. Go get your shit, I’m starving.”

Jean was touched that Eren cared so deeply about his relationships. 

He got out of the truck and started across the front yard, trying not to appear as hesitant and nauseous as he felt. His mind strayed to the subpoena still tucked in his back pocket and he tried to remind himself that this wasn’t a big deal. This was nothing compared to the other shit he had to deal with. 

He raised a hand to knock but the door swung inward before he’d even touched it. Armin stood on the threshold, eyes flicking back and forth from Jean to the massive Chevrolet. 

“Uh, hey,” said Jean, pulling his hand back and using it to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “Is it a bad time? I didn’t think to call first, I didn’t know-”

“It’s fine,” said Armin curtly. “You can come in.”

He stepped back to allow Jean inside. Everything looked just as Jean remembered and as soon as the thought crossed his mind Jean realized how ridiculous it was. It had been less than a week since he’d been to Armin’s. 

The difference was the neat stacks of clothing on Armin’s couch, pressed and folded to perfection. Jean stared at them with a lump in his throat, the feeling only intensifying when he spotted his uniforms hanging on the coat rack by the door. 

“I’m pretty sure I got everything,” said Armin. He nudged a box on the floor with his toes. “Your phone charger and laptop and stuff like that is in here.”

Jean’s mouth was drought-dry when he replied. “Okay, yeah. Thanks, Armin.”

Armin nodded once and turned away, presenting Jean with his profile. Blond hair had been secured back in a half ponytail, stray strands framing the planes of Armin’s face. There was no expression there. He was a blank slate. “Want me to help you carry it out?”

“No, uh… I’ve got it. Thanks.” Jean took that as his cue. He started with the uniforms, heaving them over his shoulder and hoping they wouldn’t slide to the floor. It would have been less painful to make only one trip but there was no way for him to balance everything at once. He loaded up what he could and headed for the door, Armin pulling it open before he reached it. 

Eren had gotten out of the truck. He leaned against the front fender, expression inscrutable behind reflective lenses. Jean hesitated on the edge of the yard, glancing over his shoulder. Armin was framed in the doorway, his tight jaw the only indication that he’d noticed Eren at all. Jean felt he should say something, that he should explain to Armin that he hadn’t gotten Eren to bring him just for spite. It was the right thing to do.

He turned back and kept walking to the truck, expecting Eren to open one of the back doors for him so he could throw his stuff inside. When Eren didn’t seem inclined to move Jean fumbled for the handle himself, dropping an armful of t-shirts in the process. He cursed, shoved his uniforms into the backseat, and knelt to retrieve his clothing. One more awkward trip later and he was back in the passenger seat, putting pressure on his temples and hoping he wasn’t developing a migraine.

“Well that looked uncomfortable,” said Eren, void of his earlier irritation. If anything he seemed mildly amused. “Didn’t exactly end things on a good note, huh, Kirschtein?”

“Just shut up and take me home.”

Eren snorted. “Don’t think so. I was promised pizza and beer, and I’m getting it now.”

“How about I just give you the cash for it and we call it even?”

“Hell no. I want food, not money.”

Jean pressed even more firmly on his temples and sighed. “Fine, but make it quick.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jean cracked one eye open and peered at Eren. He’d pushed his sunglasses up into his mess of hair and was looking at Jean with something that may have been interpreted as concern had it been on anyone else’s face.

“Yeah, I’m great. Watch the road.”

“Sorry about you and Armin,” said Eren. “You didn’t seem that upset about it, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine,” said Jean, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it.” He sighed and slumped back, staring at the ceiling of the truck. “I have to go to court on Thursday.”

“That fast?”

“Yeah, that fast.”

“What are they gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to do this before. Fuck, I’ve only had to climb up on the witness stand a few times since I’ve done the job. I’m not used to this.”

“Shit, I’ve had to testify lots of times.”

“That’s because you do shitty police work.”

“No, it’s because I always forget to clear out the data in my bodycam and it never records anything so I have to go explain what happened instead.” Eren shrugged, unbothered. “You have your shit together, though. It should be fine. I mean, everyone’s going to be on your side. You’re the good guy here.”

Jean remembered being on the scene of the shooting, the wall of hostile faces glaring straight through him. Not everyone was on his side. 

“Our shift is on duty tomorrow. If you need anything we’ll be around.” That was sentimental coming from Eren and he seemed to realize it. He shook off the moment and said, “Anyway, it’s pizza time. If you ask real nice I might let you share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I didn't have time to post an extra chapter this week. I've spent more time at work than I've spent at my house and my manager would probably frown upon the use of his computer for gay fanfiction purposes. 
> 
> To make up for it Chapter 9 will be posted in about ten minutes.


	9. Chapter 9

Jean had been concerned about court. If he’d known how badly it was actually going to be he would have been terrified.

“Try not to be discouraged,” said Erwin.

He, Jean, and Captain Levi sat in the chief’s office, which was draped in a somber atmosphere. Court had wrapped up about an hour before. It had been, quite frankly, hell. Jean had woken up that morning with a tiny spark of optimism but it had been snuffed out as soon as he’d seen the front of the courthouse from the passenger seat of Levi’s Explorer. A line of people had stretched the length of the building. There were no signs typical of protesters but Jean had known all the same that they’d been there for him.

Levi had forged a not-so-gentle path through the onlookers, dragging Jean inside before he could be approached, but not before he heard some of the things that were being said. 

Things about him.

The voices still echoed in his mind. He wondered if they would ever go away.

_Racist._

_Killer._

_Murderer._

He felt like the words had burrowed into his flesh, like anyone who looked at him would see the letters burned into his skin.

“This is only temporary,” said the Chief, sliding a paper across his desk toward Jean. “I promise you that. When we go back to court in two weeks we’ll have this taken care of.”

Jean swallowed and reached out, dutifully signing his name on the document. It was whisked from beneath his hand and Erwin tucked the sheet neatly into a folder, his heavy brow furrowed. “I expect you to continue attending your therapy sessions,” he said, “and check in with me at least twice a week. By that I mean be here in person. A phone call is insufficient.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cheer up, kid,” said Levi. “At least you’re still getting paid, right?”

“If you need anything at all,” said Erwin, ignoring him, “give either your Captain or myself a call.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Jean finally dragged his gaze up. “Can I go now?”

“Of course,” said the Chief. He nodded toward the door. “Take care of yourself.”

Jean left the office with a heavy measure of relief that still did nothing to assuage just how terrible he felt. The fact that Armin was standing at the other end of the hall, a cell phone pressed to his ear, did nothing to help. 

Jean moved past him without a word, trying to ignore the look that Armin gave him. It was too close to concern and Jean just couldn’t handle it.

He made it to the front door without further incident. He tried to push his way out and almost slammed his face into the glass when it wouldn’t budge. Jean stared at it for a long moment, confused, until he realized it was noon. Sasha would have already locked it when she left for her lunch break.

Jean mumbled a string of words under his breath that were a shade too vulgar, even for him. He turned and stomped back through the lobby into the hall, heading toward the back of the PD. There was an exit there that didn’t require a key. Hopefully no one would be in the patrol room. Hopefully he would just be able to slip out without having to speak to anyone else.

But it was twelve o’clock on a Thursday and he knew the officers on duty wouldn’t be working for the next hour unless the city went up in flames.

As Jean expected – and regretted - he was greeted with the sound of laughter when he shouldered his way into the patrol room. The entire shift was gathered, the smell of fast food not as appetizing as it should have been. Only Levi was missing, which wasn’t a surprise. Jean figured he’d be in Erwin’s office for a while, sorting out the details of Jean’s career.

Or lack thereof.

The laughter had been Eren’s and it was quickly muted by Jean’s entrance.

“Hey, how’d it go?” said Eren. The laughter lingered in his smile until he correctly interpreted Jean’s expression. Then it fell away into a scowl. “That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t good.”

“What happened?” 

Jean swallowed and looked around at the rest of them. Mikasa had discarded her food and was giving Jean her full attention, which he assumed meant she was concerned. Annie continued to eat but her head was tilted toward Jean, listening.

“I’m suspended until it gets resolved,” said Jean, his gaze dropping to the toes of his boots. “With pay, but still. Can’t even do light duty anymore. Can’t work at all.” “What the fuck?” said Eren. “Why?”

Jean sighed, but releasing the breath didn’t release any of his tension. “Long story.”

Mikasa kicked a desk chair toward him. It rolled across the room and bumped into his thigh. “Sit. We have time.”

Talking was the last thing Jean wanted to do. The first was to go home, get in bed, and try to sleep the rest of his life away. Despite that, he dropped into the chair and rolled closer.

“I can’t believe they’re even taking it seriously,” said Eren. “I mean, everyone at court knows you. They know you’re a good cop.”

“They’re not the ones handling the case,” said Jean. “They called in a prosecutor from another city. Said they couldn’t just use the ones here, it would be a conflict of interest.” “That sounds reasonable,” said Mikasa, pushing back a strand of hair that dangled in her eyes.

“It makes sense,” agreed Jean, “but it’s not good. It’s some lady named Banana or something like that. She’s a cold hard bitch. She should’ve just cut my throat in the middle of the courtroom. It would’ve been less painful.”

“Who’s representing you?”

Jean closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “Pixis.”

Annie snorted, the first sound Jean had heard from her since he’d entered the room. She clamped a hand over her mouth, not looking at him.

“It was a disaster,” said Jean. He slouched over, cradling his head in his palms. “I got destroyed. The kid’s mom stood up and told the judge how it had been an unprovoked attack and her son had never done anything wrong and there was no evidence to support anything I said. She started crying and said she was personally offended that I hadn’t been fired. She talked about how the investigation had been pushed aside because the city is a political cesspool of corruption and some shit like that. Her whole fucking family was there, staring at me the whole time. It was awful.”

“Pixis didn’t say anything to defend you?” said Mikasa.

“Of course he didn’t,” said Annie. Her voice was flat, just like her expression. “He was probably drunk.”

“There wasn’t anything for him to say.” Jean shrugged, sinking back in his chair. “It was just a first appearance. They didn’t even talk about what had happened or whose fault it had been. They’ll do that next time, I guess.”

Mikasa dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. It was probably meant as a comforting gesture but the strength of her grip was a little painful. “They’ll settle it soon and get you back on patrol. It’s not the same without you.”

“Yeah, no one else is as much of a pain in the ass.”

“Shut up, Eren,”

“Thanks, Mikasa,” said Jean, ignoring Eren completely. “They reset it for two weeks. Chief said we’d have everything ready then in case they wanted to do a trial or something. You guys will probably get subpoenaed, too, since you worked the case.”

“We’ll be there for you, Jean,” said Mikasa. “Try not to worry about it.”

Jean nodded, although he figured he wasn’t going to do much of anything else for the next two weeks.

“Yeah, we’ve got you,” said Eren. “Let’s go out tomorrow night, all of us together. We haven’t been out as a shift in a long time. What do you think, Annie?”

She barely looked at him. “Whatever.”

“Awesome. Mikasa? Jean?”

Mikasa didn’t exactly look enthused, but she nodded her agreement anyway. 

“I don’t know,” said Jean. “I’m not really part of the shift anymore. Not right now, anyway.”

“Shut up, you’ll always be part of the shift. I’m going to take that as a yes.”

Normally Jean would have argued. It was just the way he interacted with Jaeger, but just then he couldn’t work up the energy. 

“We’ll go to Maria’s like we used to,” said Eren, more thrilled by the plan than the rest of them. “You need to get a little drunk. It’ll make you feel better.”

Jean doubted that anything would be able to make him feel better.

“You inviting Captain?” said Annie, flipping the lid shut on her box of takeout. “He’s part of the shift.”

Eren visibly hesitated, brows pulling together. “Uh… I don’t think so. I mean, we could, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t come anyway… right?” He looked back at Mikasa. “Do you think he’d come?”

“Definitely not.”

Eren frowned, but shrugged. “Just the four of us, then. Good enough for me.” His eyes found Jean and he smirked. “After you and your boy-toy split up I think you could use some time with the guys.” He spread his arms to include Annie and Mikasa in the statement. If either of them were offended they didn’t show it.

“Armin broke up with you?” said Mikasa. “He didn’t even tell me.”

“I broke up with him,” mumbled Jean, wondering why everyone assumed it had been Armin’s decision. Maybe it was because Jean had never dated anyone like Armin. It wouldn’t make sense for him to break it off with someone who was too good for him.

“Really?” said Mikasa, clearly surprised. “Why?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” said Jean. He stood and shoved the chair back toward the table on the far side of the room. “Eren will tell you everything when I leave anyway. He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

He left, accompanied by a flurry of Eren’s protests. They all fell flat because they were all lies. The only reason Eren hadn’t told Mikasa already was probably because he didn’t like to talk about Armin if at all possible.

He walked home with his hands in his pockets, watching the sidewalk blur beneath his feet. His life was a fucking train wreck. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do for the next two weeks while he waited to go back to court. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do if they terminated him permanently. Worse still, a possibility that he hadn’t allowed himself to seriously consider until that morning, was the knowledge that he could be arrested for murder if he didn’t prove that his actions were justified.

All of this was a dark blur in his head, swirling like sweltering, rancid sewage. 

Worse than all that, the thing that rang in his thoughts the most clearly, was something he hadn’t mentioned to his shift. When he’d been leaving the courthouse, trailing after Levi’s surprisingly swift steps, a small child had ran up to him, blocking his immediate escape. The kid had looked up at him with big eyes, her words forming strangely because of her missing front teeth. Despite her slight lisp the statement had been clear and painful.

“Why did you kill my brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of shorted you guys a court scene. There will be another one coming up pretty soon, though. Maybe that will make up for it?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little late on this update. The holidays have gotten me a little behind. Sorry!
> 
> I know I've mentioned it before, but if you ever notice any mistakes - grammar or otherwise - don't hesitate to point them out. I read everything about six times before I post it but I know there are things I miss.

Jean should have gone to therapy the next morning. The day before Chief Smith had specifically told him to continue attending. He was quite aware and he just laid in his bed like a vegetable as nine o’clock came and passed.

He managed to roll himself upright at noon, and only then because he felt his bladder would explode if he didn’t relieve himself at that exact moment. Since he was in the bathroom already he went ahead and took a shower for lack of anything else to do. Then he flossed his teeth, which was something he hadn’t done in months. After spitting bloody saliva into the sink he migrated to the kitchen and sat on one of the bar stools, staring blankly at the wall. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. There wasn’t a single time since he’d graduated high school that he hadn’t had a job to go to. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the opportunity to be lazy on occasion but it was always done with the knowledge that he would be reporting back to work soon. This was different; painful, almost. There was no direction, no purpose. 

The worst part was that it was, for the moment, only temporary. What would he do if it gained permanence? What if he was destroyed in court and lost his job for good? His cell rang from the bedroom and he considered ignoring it. He couldn’t think of a single person he actually wanted to speak with. Despite that, he slid to his feet and went to retrieve the phone. 

When he saw who was calling he considered tossing it out the window.

“Good morning, Chief,” he said, face contorted into a grimace as he took the call.

“So you’re alive after all,” said Erwin, his voice lacking the bite that Jean expected. “Is everything okay, Corporal?”

Jean figured he was using the title to try and comfort him. It didn’t really work.

“Yes sir, everything is fine. I just wasn’t feeling well this morning, didn’t make it over to B- Brz-… to Rico’s office.”

“You sound alright now,” noted Erwin. “Are you feeling up to par?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now. Sir.”

“Excellent. Luckily Dr. Brzenska has an opening at two. That should be plenty of time for you to get over there.”

Jean closed his eyes and resisted the urge to leap from the window himself. “Great.”

“I know it’s difficult for you,” said Erwin, “but try to have a brighter outlook on this. It’s going to look much better for you when we return to court if we can say you’ve been attending sessions and that the psychologist has no reason to believe that you’re a danger. This is for your benefit, Jean, whether you feel that way or not.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “I’ll be there at two.”

“Remember what I said. I expect to see you in my office toward the beginning of the week to check in.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the call ended Jean collapsed back onto his bed with a groan. The light from the single window was too bright in his eyes and he covered his face with his pillow. He briefly considered trying to suffocate himself.

Eventually he emerged and trudged over to his closet. At one point there had been a measure of order. When he’d returned from Armin’s a couple of days before he and Eren had flung all of his clothes in a pile in the corner. The only garments hanging neatly were his uniforms, tucked away in one side of the closet. Jean glanced over at them before kneeling to dig through the heap of disorder, fishing out some old blue jeans and a t-shirt. Before he backed out of the closet he noticed the box that Armin had given him. Jean hadn’t bothered to open it. The cell charger he’d kept at Armin’s had been a spare and he hadn’t had a reason to use his laptop yet. Still, he seized it from its discarded place in the floor and carried it over to his bed. 

He untucked the flaps and dug into the contents, finding exactly what Armin had advised. Along with that, however, was something that made his stomach twist. He lifted out his patrol radio, the speaker dangling from the handset by a corkscrewed wire. He set it aside and retrieved the charging base that was also buried in the box. 

For a long moment he just stood and stared at it. It was only a radio. It wasn’t as if it was a big deal. 

On some level, though, it really was. That radio had been attached to his duty belt every single day since he’d started the job. It had gone with him on every call, feeding him constant voices of guidance. 

He twisted the knob on top and was met with a quick burst of static before the radio leveled into silence. He held his breath, waiting, but no voices filtered through. 

A quick, loud beep made him jump. He turned it back off and grabbed for the charger, plugging it up and placing it on his nightstand. The radio was settled into its cradle a moment later, the small light on the face of the speaker glowing red. He turned it on again, dropping onto the edge of his bed to listen. 

It was about ten minutes before anyone spoke, and when they finally did he sucked in a sharp breath.

“302, headquarters.”

The reply was instant.

“302.”

It was Ymir, shift 3’s sergeant. Jean didn’t know her very well on a personal level but he knew enough of her to appreciate that she was a good officer.

“Can you signal six, please?”

“Ten-four.”

Jean released a sigh of frustration. That hadn’t even been a call for service. The dispatchers had requested a phone call from Ymir, probably to complain about something idiotic, if experience proved accurate. 

He turned the radio off again and picked up the clothes he’d tossed on the floor, changing into them in preparation for emerging into the outside world. He could stop and get some food on the way there and still have enough time to make it to Rico’s office by two. 

If he was a few minutes later, that wouldn't be so bad, either.

  
  
  


His past visits with Rico had been irritating, but compared to that day he wished he could return to the status quo. He didn’t know if he’d just upset her by missing his appointment that morning, but by the time he’d settled into the chair reserved for clients, Rico was absolutely hostile.

“I am _not_ a racist!” Jean said loudly, his grip tightening on the arms of his seat. 

Rico made a noncommittal sound, tilting her head as she observed him. “Statistically speaking, people are inclined to value their own culture above others. People tend to favor individuals of their own race. Even if one doesn’t have any malicious intent, that favoritism is still there.”

“So you’re saying I shot someone because I like white people,” said Jean, trying to tamp down his anger before it flared beyond his grasp. “That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve heard lately.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. What I mean is that if the victim had been white it is less likely that you would have resorted to deadly force.”

Jean’s mouth fell open as he gaped at her. She’d always been annoying but it had been because of her tendency to fish for information that Jean didn’t want to give. It reminded him of Armin, in a way. This was worse. This was blatant accusation and he did not appreciate it.

Rico looked as if she was going to continue but Jean’s sharp retort cut her off.

“You fucking listen to me,” he said, digging his fingers into the arm of his chair. “That night I was doing my job. I’ve told you that before. I don’t give a fuck if the kid was black. It could’ve been a scrawny little white kid out there and I would’ve done the same thing. It was the only thing to do. Don’t talk to me about fucking discrimination until you get out of this comfy fucking office and do the job yourself. If I hadn’t shot him I could’ve been killed. Somebody else could’ve been killed. I don’t care who the fuck anybody is or what fucking color they are. They’re not worth me or anybody else losing my life for, you got that?”

Rico’s expression hadn’t changed. She observed him with cool interest, as if they were discussing changing weather patterns.

“You’re particularly hostile today,” she noted. “Is it because you were suspended?”

“It’s because you called me a fucking racist! Who wouldn’t be hostile?”

“If it’s not true then there’s no need for you to get so upset about it.” She paused and scratched something down in the notebook on her desk. She looked back up at him over the frames of her glasses. “Tell me about your parents. How did they feel about minorities?”

Jean just stared at her. She couldn’t be serious.

“Well?” she prodded. “Often one’s view of others stems from learned opinions. It’s passed down through generations. Do your parents have any racist tendencies that they expressed during your childhood?”

Jean took a deep breath. If he threw his chair at her Chief Smith would probably be mad. 

“My dad hated everybody equally,” he said, “including me. He didn’t discriminate. Mom loved everybody, including him. So no, they weren’t fucking racists.”

“So they’ve both passed, then?”

“Mom has,” said Jean, trying not to think about it too much. “Dad’s still alive. I don’t talk to him.”

“What about other family members?” pressed Rico. “Aunts, uncles, siblings…?”

“No.”

“No to what?”

“No to everything. Can we actually talk about something relevant? I’m not racist. I didn’t shoot the kid because he was black. I didn’t have the time to notice what fucking color he was. It’s not like I had a lot of time to stop and think about it.”

“I’m not saying it was a conscious process,” said Rico. “If you hold certain views about other races then it’s ingrained into your subconscious. It could have been an automatic response for you to-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Jean. He stood, shaking fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not listening to this shit. You’re not trying to help me. You’re just like everybody else. Everyone thinks I’m a shitty cop. A shitty person. You know what? You can think that all you want. I know what happened and I know I did the right thing. So fuck you, and fuck everyone else.”

He stomped toward the door, expecting Rico to try and stop him. To his surprise and relief she sat quietly and allowed him to leave. It wasn’t until he’d stormed into the hallway that he heard her voice, tone perfectly even. “I’ll see you on Monday, Jean.”

“Not fucking likely,” muttered Jean.

He burst through the front doors of the building and trudged down the sidewalk toward his apartment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. He was resentful of his situation but that was more of a subtle burn, a muted sensation that lingered from day to day. This was different. This was the burst of fury that he’d been missing since the shot was fired. It was hot, scalding, and it made him realize just how close to numb he’d been until now.

There weren’t many pedestrians strolling about at that time of day. Across the street a woman jogged by with headphones and a panting Labrador. A trio of teenage girls traipsed out of one of the stores, giggling among themselves. Jean ignored everyone. He kept walking with his head down, fists concealed in his pockets, his jaw set so stiffly that it was starting to ache.

“Hey, you.”

At first the voice didn’t register. Jean didn’t slow his pace, didn’t look back.

“Hey, blondie! I’m talking to you!” 

Jean didn’t stop, but he spared a glance over his shoulder, wondering what idiot was trying to communicate with him. A man stood a short distance behind him, his expression reflecting only a slice of the anger that Jean felt. 

“You’re that cop, the one who’s killing people.”

Jean’s steps faltered. His anger was punctured by a jolt of surprise.

“I saw you in court yesterday,” the man continued, his scowl darkening. “Can’t believe you’re out here walking around like a decent human being. Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do shit,” said Jean, the words snapping too loudly. “Fuck off.”

The man laughed, the sound completely humorless.

“Fucking cops, think you can do whatever you want.” He spat on the sidewalk. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

“You don’t know anything fucking about me,” Jean bit back, the anger that Rico had stoked burning more brightly. 

“You’re a fucking killer. That’s all I need to know.”

“I’ll kill you too if you don’t back the fuck off!”

It was the wrong thing to say and Jean knew it before the words flew out of his mouth. The man was enraged. The step he took toward Jean was measured, menacing. It was only then that Jean realized that the man was a touch over six foot tall and he probably didn’t skimp on gym day, either. 

This wasn’t good.

Luckily for Jean a police cruiser rolled up to the curb at that moment, effectively ending the confrontation. 

The man looked from the car to Jean, a sneer curling his face.

“Good thing your cop friends are around,” he said, slowly backing up. “Next time they won’t be, Kirschtein.”

The fact that the man knew his name was the most jarring thing from the entire confrontation, though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. If he’d been at court then clearly he would’ve known Jean’s name. Although Jean was pointedly avoiding the media, he was aware that his name was probably being broadcasted on the city’s news station as well.

Still it unnerved him. It made him feel vulnerable and he wished for the familiar weight of his Glock. 

Sunlight glared on the window of the cruiser as the door was pushed open, a man even taller than Jean’s potential assailant stepping onto the sidewalk. 

“You alright, Jean?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Bert.”

Bertholt pushed up his sunglasses and eyed Jean’s new enemy, who had put quite a bit of distance between them during his retreat. “He do anything I can charge him with?” “Not really,” said Jean. He shrugged and tried not to look guilty. He’d been the one tossing out death threats, after all. If anyone should get trouble for the incident it was Jean. “Just said some stuff about the shooting.”

“Oh.” Bert was quiet for a long moment but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He wasn’t big on conversation. “Where are you headed?”

“On my way home. Just got finished with therapy.” He spat the word like venom. His rage had been tamped down but now it sparked again, a scatter of embers burning in his chest. 

“Want a ride? Calls are slow today.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble for driving someone around without permission?”

Bertolt frowned, but only for a moment. “I’m not worried about it.”

That apparently marked the end of the discussion. He got back into his car and Jean followed, circling the bumper of the Crown Vic and crawling into the passenger seat. It was a tight fit with all of Bert’s gear that took up too much space but Jean wedged himself in and made it work. It was better than riding in the back. All dignity inside, Jean knew some of the disgusting things that happened in the back of police vehicles. He wasn’t going anywhere near that.

“You still live in the apartments off Broadway?” asked Bert, easing the car forward.

“Yeah, still there.”

Bertholt nodded his acknowledgment and kept driving. The radio crackled. Dispatch informed 305 that there was a vehicle accident in his zone. Connie’s voice came through, confirming that he was en route.

“We’re going to have a few drinks tonight,” said Bert. “Shift 3, I mean. You can join us if you want.”

It was a surprisingly generous offer. All the patrol officers tended to get along pretty well but there was nothing that compared to the bonds that one made with their own shift. Typically they didn’t mingle outside of work. 

“Thanks,” said Jean, actually meaning it, “but I’m going out with my shift.”

“Okay then.”

The silence remained until Bert pulled up to the Broadway apartments, idling in front of the door. Before Jean got out of the car Bertolt said, “If you ever need anything you know you can call. We have your back too. Our shift, I mean. Even Ymir, you should’ve heard her complaining about your suspension.”

Jean felt oddly touched. He’d assumed that no one else would particularly care about his situation. It was his problem, not theirs. The fact that they were on his side was a relief. 

Especially Ymir. It was nice to know that not every black individual in the city hated him. 

“Thanks, Bert. I’ll remember that.”

Bertolt gave him a nod and a smile. Jean climbed out of the car and hit the button for the elevator. He was still angry but the edges of his rage had been dulled. It was no longer licking at him like dancing flames. 

It was a relief to know there were people who actually did care about him, people who were on his side.

Even if they were outnumbered by those who weren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I was late on the update I'm going to post one more chapter today. It should be up in a few!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to posting this one. 
> 
> This will ~~eventually~~ be a JeanMarco fic, but you've all noticed the additional pairing in the tags, right?

Mikasa picked Jean up at seven.

She was always labeled the designated driver when the shift went out and it was only partially because she was the most responsible. The main reason was that Mikasa didn’t drink. The first time she’d mentioned it Jean had been certain she was joking but, true to her word, he’d never seen her ingest a single drop of alcohol. 

He piled into the back of her Tahoe alongside Eren, who already had a bottle of beer in hand. Even if he wasn’t in a car full of cops, Jean guessed that the clearly-darker-than-the-legal-limit black tint on the windows would have allowed them to do almost anything without being noticed.

Annie was in the passenger seat, her flat stare finding Jean for only a moment before she was staring out the window again. 

“Look at us, all together again,” said Eren, sliding over to fling an arm around Jean’s shoulders. 

He was definitely on the fast track to becoming a drunken mess.

“We were together yesterday,” said Jean, shrugging off his arm. “Get off of me.”

“So moody,” said Eren with a crooked smirk. He shoved his beer into Jean’s face. “Here, drink this. You need it more than me.”

“Scoot over, you asshole. Lay off the alcohol, we’re not even at the fucking bar yet.”

Eren laughed. “I’m not drunk. I’m just annoying.”

Mikasa looked over her shoulder with a raised brow. “At least you’ve admitted it.”

“Hey!”

The two of them bantered like siblings for the remainder of the drive, which Jean supposed they practically were. They didn’t talk much about their personal lives – Mikasa in particular – but from what Jean had gathered, the Ackerman family had adopted Eren when he was a teenager. Jean thought it might’ve had something to do with the murder that Eren never talked about. The circumstances were hazy, but as badly as Jean wanted to know, he knew better than to ask. 

“Don’t leave your bottles in my car,” Mikasa said as she pulled into a parking spot. “I don’t want beer in my floorboards.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Eren collected his mess before hopping onto the pavement, the others following closely behind. He dumped the trio of bottles into the trash can outside the door of Maria’s, where a familiar freckled face was puffing on a cigarette.

“Hey losers,” said Ymir, blowing smoke in their direction. “Come to hang out with the cool kids?”

Jean rolled his eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to feel anything negative toward her after what Bertholt had said. He actually felt the urge to hug her but knew he would probably get a broken nose for his trouble.

“Fuck you, Ymir,” said Eren. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Ymir flicked ashes from the end of her cigarette, raising a single eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, Jaeger, didn’t know you owned the place. Let me just head home and get out of your way.”

“Is your whole shift here?” said Jean, though he knew the answer already. Bert had said they were going out. He should have known they would run into them. Maria’s was the go-to bar for law enforcement. It was favored by firemen and paramedics, too, and occasionally a cluster of dispatchers would swagger in. It was the only bar Jean had been to since he’d become an officer. It was a comfort to drink your fill and not worry about a group of sketchy guys in the back of the room stabbing you because you arrested them a week before. 

“Except for Nile,” she said with a shrug. “He doesn’t like to be seen with us. We’re just peons, after all.”

“I wouldn’t want to be seen with you either,” said Eren. He stepped past her and shouldered his way through the door, the rest of them trailing behind. 

Jean hesitated for a moment. He wanted to say something to Ymir, offer some form of gratitude for not automatically blaming him. He knew she would probably spit on anything he said, so he just followed the others inside.

As expected, one of the long tables in the back corner of the room had been claimed by cops. Reiner and Bertholt sat side by side, chatting with Krista, who Jean knew had only come because Ymir had asked. Jean almost groaned when he caught sight of the last member of Shift 3. He knew wherever Connie was, he was bound to have company. True to form, Sasha sat on his left, treating a plate of cheese fries like it was her last meal.

Jean glanced at the others, hoping they would choose a different table and keep the socializing to a minimum. Annie destroyed that hope as she traipsed across the bar, plopping down beside Reiner as if she belonged there. She was almost smiling. 

She’d been assigned to Shift 3 before Connie and had worked with Reiner and Bert for a couple of years. When Armin had transferred to Investigations the Chief reassigned her to Shift 4. She blended with them fairly well but Jean couldn’t help but feel she would jump ship back to Shift 3 in a heartbeat if she ever got the chance.

With a sigh of defeat Jean traced her steps to the table and took the chair beside Bert, which was the lesser of the evils. It was better than sitting next to Connie or Sasha, who he assumed were still displeased with him. Sasha’s glare at his arrival confirmed it.

“Hey, guys,” said Eren, dropping into the chair next to Jean. “How goes it?”

“It goes,” said Connie. He took another sip of his beer. “How’re you guys doing?”

“A little more sober than I’d like,” said Eren. “Other than that, good.”

“Well you’re at the right place,” said Connie, tipping his bottle toward Eren. His eyes then flitted to Jean, who could hear the edge of hesitation in his voice. “Hey, Kirschtein. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” said Jean. He tried to be casual and not give the impression that he was bracing himself for Sasha to leap across the table at him like a wild animal. He pictured her as a biter. He’d been bitten several times in the line of duty and didn’t want to try it again. “Hey, Sash.”

Her glare just narrowed before she refocused on her food. Jean supposed it was an improvement.

Before Ymir returned to the table she swung by the bar, gracing them with a free round of beer. “I’m in a good mood,” she said, justifying the generosity with a shrug. “Don’t get used to it.” She plopped down at the end of the table and slung an arm over the back of Krista’s chair.

Mikasa politely thanked her before discreetly nudging her drink toward Eren, who had already drained half of his own. 

The conversation was civil, especially for a group of officers whose main interactions with one another consisted of sarcasm and antagonism. Jean was starting to relax, tipping back his second beer – this one courtesy of Bert – when Sasha put down her empty margarita glass and said, “So Jean. How was your day? Must have been pretty awful. It’s a boring life having to sit on your ass all day. I guess I would know, right?”

Connie jabbed her with an elbow, muttering something under his breath that Jean couldn’t quite catch. It didn’t seem to improve Sasha’s mood. She just stared at her empty glass, sulking like a child.

Jean swallowed the last of his beer, wondering if anyone would notice if he just slipped away. Before he could think about it too much Eren was tugging on his sleeve, tilting his head toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get something harder.”

If he couldn’t leave then he’d just have to drink so much he couldn’t remember where he was.

“Yeah, okay.”

He stood and followed Eren, sliding onto one of the high barstools that lined the polished counter. When the bartender wandered over Eren ordered before Jean even opened his mouth. “Two rum and cokes, two Irish car bombs, and two jolly ranchers. That shit’s fantastic.”

Eren grinned broadly at the bartender, who couldn’t help but return the smile before turning to start on his drinks. It was a shame that Eren was about as straight as a labyrinth. Women adored him.

“She’s not bad,” said Eren, giving Jean a sharp nudge. “You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

Jean rolled his eyes but gave the bartender another look. She was young, probably in her early twenties. She wore shorts that weren’t possibly in accordance with dress code that showed off legs that just wouldn’t quit. 

Eren was right. She wasn’t bad, not at all, and at any other time Jean might have tried his luck. Women weren’t really his forte, but at the moment it didn’t really matter. He was single, after all. He was now allowed to do whatever he wanted.

He talked himself out of it before he even seriously considered it. His track record of heterosexual relationships was not good. To be honest, his track record of relationships in general was not good. 

“Nah,” he said with a shrug, tilting his head back to watch the flatscreens hung over the bar. “Not my type.”

Eren didn’t press and Jean was grateful.

When their drinks were delivered Jean reached automatically for the rum and coke, but Eren shoved a shot glass full of blue sunshine into his hand. 

“Trust me,” he said, reaching for his own jolly rancher. “Just drink it.”

Jean sighed but did as instructed. It didn’t taste strong. The alcohol was just a belated kick in the back of his throat. Still he started to feel it just a few moments after he’d started sipping on his rum and coke. 

There wasn’t much excitement happening in the bar and Jean didn’t know what kind of drinking conversation to strike with Eren. He just stared at the overhead screen, his glass to his lips, reading subtitles about a robbery that had happened in the next town over. 

Then the news story changed. It switched back to more local news, the reporter standing in front of the courthouse that was all too familiar. The picture that flashed across the screen immediately afterward was even more familiar, and Jean’s stomach twisted.

It was his own face looking back at him, the shoulders of his uniform visible along the bottom edge of the photo. It was from the year before when he’d been promoted to Corporal, though his sleeves had been cropped out so the honorary stripes weren’t even visible. His expression was stern, unsmiling. He’d been absolutely thrilled but cops didn’t smile in photos. It was a universal understanding.

The picture wasn’t the worst of his problems. The words feeding across the screen, line by line, were a slap in the face. 

\---case was continued. Corporal Kirschtein was placed on suspension with pay until further notice. After the decision, there were mixed feelings from those in attendance. The camera cut to a pair of women, one of them speaking with visible gusto while the other nodded along. Jean didn’t recognize either of them but he assumed they had been acquainted with the victim; not because they were black, but because of the things that the speaker was saying.

“…and they suspended him, which is the same thing as saying he’s guilty. If he wasn’t then they wouldn’t bother. I don’t know why they think they need to keep paying him. It’s like rewarding him for what he did. They’re giving him a paid vacation because he killed someone. Tell me how that’s fair. Tell me how that’s justice. When they admit he killed Eli in cold blood, that’s when…”

Eren’s voice was loud enough to make Jean wince. “Hey, dollface. Could you change the station? This is a bar, let’s see some sports. Preferably something with ripped dudes beating the shit out of each other.”

The bartender stopped in the middle of printing a receipt and trotted over to comply. A moment later the news channel was replaced with an MMA fight. Eren lit up like it was his wet dream. Jean figured it probably was.

Jean threw back the rest of his drink in one deep gulp and reached for his last one. It was gone in the span of a minute. His throat burned but he barely felt it. He hardly felt anything, physically. It was everything in his head that was painful. 

“Here,” said Eren. He pressed his rum into Jean’s palm. “I would tell you not to worry about it but that’s stupid.” 

“Not worried,” said Jean, as he tilted the drink back. 

Eren didn’t argue but it was clear that he wasn’t convinced. He waved down the bartender again and ordered them another round of shots. By that point Jean didn’t even care what kind they were. As long as it was alcoholic he would drink it.

Half an hour and several drinks later Jean struggled to slide off of his stool. He didn’t want to move but if he didn’t get to the bathroom in the next thirty seconds he was positive he would piss himself. His feet hit the floor and his face almost followed. Eren grabbed his arm just in time to keep him upright.

“Bathroom,” mumbled Jean, the single word tilting oddly. 

“You’re gonna fall on your ass,” said Eren. His smirk was crooked, teeth flashing. His words weren’t clear-cut either, but it wasn’t only the product of a drunken slur. When Eren drank his accent started creeping in, a honeyed drawl that made Jean think of cowboys and sunsets. “Need me to hold your hand, princess?”

“Fuck off.”

Despite the refusal Eren accompanied him anyway, occasionally reaching out to steady Jean’s wobbling gait. Eren had drank more than Jean but he was almost perfectly coordinated. There was no awkward stumbling or dizzy flailing. It must have come from practice, which Jean was now lacking. Since he’d started spending more time with Armin he inevitably spent less time in atmospheres that promoted alcohol use.

His liver must have been confused as fuck.

Jean shouldered through the bathroom door, struggled with his pants, and pointed himself in the general direction of a urinal with a relieved sigh. He had to brace one hand against the wall to keep himself upright for the entire thirty seconds that it took for him to empty his bladder. He stumbled back, zipping up, and discovered that buttons didn’t work quite as well as they did a few drinks ago.

He struggled for a moment, trying to refasten his pants, until Eren took pity on him. 

“Jesus, Kirschtein, you’re fucking helpless,” he said, reaching over to seize Jean’s belt loop and yank him closer. 

“Fuck you, Jaeger.”

Eren’s glare was right in front of his face. Jean smelled the alcohol on Eren’s breath. Or maybe it was on his own breath. He didn’t care. He just wanted more. He was drunk, but not obliterated. The thoughts he wanted to chase away hadn’t been completely drowned. He still thought about the courthouse, about the stares that had followed him in and out, about Armin’s face when he’d hurt him, about slick, hot blood covering his hands like gloves.

Jean was slung across the room, too lost inside his head to see it coming. Eren shoved him into one of the stalls and stepped in after him. He slammed the door shut and paused to twist the lock. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Jean, belatedly finding his voice as Eren moved toward him.

“Shut up,” snapped Eren. He planted a hand on Jean’s chest, pinning him to the side of the stall. “I know you don’t want to talk about it but I can see it’s bothering you, asshole. Let somebody help you for once.”

“Help me?” repeated Jean. He wasn’t following Eren’s train of thought. Maybe it was because of the alcohol but he was pretty sure he would’ve been confused even if he was stone cold sober. “What are you talking about?”

Eren rolled his eyes, pushed his hair back, and dropped to his knees on the bathroom floor. The scratch of Jean’s zipper followed. Eren yanked at his pants, pulling them down over Jean’s bony hips.

“Jaeger, what the fuck?” Jean tried to slap him away, but then hot breath ghosted over his cock and froze him in place. “What… what are you _doing_?”

“I fucking wonder,” said Eren, the sarcasm dripping from his voice like acid. “Although I really wouldn’t be surprised if this is your first blowjob. You’re such a fucking nerd.”

Jean’s mouth was open to respond, but it snapped shut again as Eren’s tongue dragged across the newly exposed flesh. 

Jean swallowed the tight sound building in his throat. Despite his shock he was hard almost instantly. 

“Jaeger… _fuck_ … why are you-”

“Will you just shut up for once? Just stop stressing out for five minutes of your life and actually relax.”

Jean bit down on his bottom lip and obeyed, just so Eren would do something more constructive with his mouth than scolding him. 

Jean and Armin had dated for several months. There was nothing wild or abrasive or spontaneous about Armin. 

And there was nothing careful or slow or romantic about Eren Jaeger.

There was no teasing, no build up. Eren’s mouth was on him, pulling and sucking and licking, and Jean had absolutely nothing to complain about.

There was an occasional slide of teeth that made Jean shudder, his back arching away from the dirty bathroom stall. Eren’s hand slid up his leg, squeezing the base of his cock, and Jean’s moan was barely muffled by clenched teeth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed. “What if somebody… ah… comes in?”

“They’ll have to get in line.”

The response was mumbled around a mouthful of cock and Jean felt a bolt of heat shoot through his gut. Automatically he buried a hand in Eren’s mess of hair, fisting the strands between his fingers.

He still had no idea what was going on but he had passed the point of complaining.

Eren started pumping Jean’s cock in his fist, still sucking on the tip, and Jean threw his head back so hard that it cracked against the wall. 

“Fuck,” he said. The pain was barely there, overshadowed by the wave of sensation crashing through him, getting stronger, hotter. He moaned through clenched teeth, unable to suppress it. Eren’s grip tightened, his tongue flicking in just the right way, and Jean detonated.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, his fist clenched firmly in Eren’s hair as he came. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Eren remained latched onto him until he finished. When he pulled away it was with a wet sucking sound that made Jean twitch. Eren wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and stood, yanking Jean’s pants back up. 

Jean knew he should help, but it was all he could do to remain upright. 

A hand smacked him in the face but the slap was muted, almost gentle.

“Get it together, Kirschtein,” said Eren. “Stop looking so fucked out.”

“Fuck you, Jaeger.” The insult lacked heat. At that particular moment he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything negative toward Eren at all.

“That’s a little better.” Eren flattened down his own hair and let himself out of the bathroom stall. He stepped in front of the mirror over the sink, wiping away the smudge at the corner of his mouth. “I’m going back out. Wait a couple minutes before you follow me.”

He was gone before Jean could respond, the door swinging shut behind him. Jean just stared after him, still completely unsure what had just happened. He stumbled to the sink and braced himself on the edge, staring at himself in the dirty mirror. There were gray rings under his eyes which, combined with the overall pallor of his flesh, didn’t exactly look healthy. His hair was a wreck, but that was expected. He hadn’t even touched it that day.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for just a second. Eren was a complete moron. He’d known that since the day they met. 

But at least the idiot could do something right.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2016!

When he opened his eyes again he was no longer at the bar. He was lying in his own bed and the light coming in through the single window suggested it was at least noon.

He sat up with a groan, wondering where the past sixteen hours of his life had gone. The headache splitting his skull cleanly in half wasn’t helping. 

He collapsed back onto the bed and pulled his pillow over his face, blocking out the light. His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt as if it was flaking away like sand. At least he wasn’t nauseous. Hangovers made him feel like shit, but at least he’d never been the guy hugging the toilet after all-night shift parties. That spot was always reserved for Eren.

Eren… fuck.

The night before was a dark blur, but he remembered bathroom incident quite clearly. Why couldn’t he have forgotten that, too?

Because that would’ve been convenient. And Jean Kirschtein’s life was certainly not convenient.

He rolled over and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He winced against the throbbing in his head, pushed himself upright, and promptly fell in a heap on the floor. “Oww, mother _fucker_.” Jean cringed from the pain that lanced up his leg and traveled all the way to his hip. He clutched his knee against his chest and curled halfway up, squinting at his ankle. It was visibly swollen and slightly bruised, a blue tinge creeping along the outside of his foot. “What the hell?”

He gathered his functional leg beneath him and crawled back onto the bed. His phone was lying on the nightstand, which he considered a miracle. He reached for it with the intention of calling Eren to see what the fuck had happened, but was sidetracked when he looked down at his hands. His palms had been skinned, spattered with a flurry of tiny red scabs. He must have fallen somewhere, probably on rough asphalt. The small cuts on his left knee backed that speculation.

He’d received several texts while he’d been unconscious. The first was from Eren.

_ur suh a lttl btch_

Clearly Jean wasn’t the only one who’d been wasted. The next text was from Mikasa and it was actually coherent.

_You really need to have your ankle checked. If you change your mind about going to the hospital call me. I’ll drive you._

That didn’t clarify much about what had happened. It only reinforced the idea that Jean was stubborn even when he was blackout drunk.

He looked at his ankle again. He pointed his toes, which felt fine. He flexed them back and choked on spike of pain, collapsing backward with his leg hanging uselessly off the edge of the mattress.

“At least it’s not going to affect my job,” he said, speaking to the ceiling. “I mean, since I don’t have a job to go to.”

He thought about calling Mikasa but decided against it. If she’d felt he needed to go to the hospital the night before, her view wouldn’t have changed. She would push until he agreed, and Jean wasn’t a fan of hospitals.

Instead he called Eren, not really expecting an answer. Jaeger could hold his liquor pretty well but he always suffered for it the next day.

The phone rang about six times. Just when Jean was about to hang up, a hoarse, scratchy voice answered.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Eren sounded like shit.

“You sound like shit.”

“Fuck you, Kirschtein. You _look_ like shit.”

“You can’t even see me, moron.”

“Don’t have to, you always look like shit.”

“You’re just pissy because you’ve been in the bathroom floor all day.”

“At least I didn’t have to be carried home last night, fuckface.”

Jean almost argued on impulse, then reminded himself that Eren was probably right. He couldn’t walk now. He doubted he’d been any better off while he was drunk. “What happened?”

Eren snorted. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. I’ve never seen you so fucking plastered.”

“Yeah, great. What happened?” he repeated.

“You tripped over your own big ass feet when we dropped you off at your place. Mikasa thought it might be broken and wanted to take you to the hospital but you told her you’d die first. You’re so fucking dramatic.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Jean. “How’d you manage to carry me? You were drunk, too.”

“I didn’t. Mikasa did.” The grin in his voice was obvious. 

“She fucking didn’t.”

“She fucking did. I recorded it on my phone. I can’t wait to show Captain.” Eren laughed, but the humor was cut short. It probably hurt him to laugh. “You were whining like a baby. You kept saying, ‘Put me down, ‘Kasa, I can take care of myself.’”

Jean thought maybe he was lying but he couldn’t be sure.

“You show that to anyone and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Fine. You show it to anybody and I’ll tell everyone you sucked my dick in the bathroom.”

“Look at that, you do remember something,” said Eren, unconcerned. “Go ahead. You’ll be more embarrassed than me.”

There was no denying that. Jean covered his eyes with his forearm, biting down on a groan. “What was that, anyway?”

“A blowjob, as far as I could tell.”

“Shut up. I mean why?”

“You needed it,” said Eren simply. “You were a lot more chill after that so I guess it worked.”

It wasn’t logical. He and Eren were friends, but that was it. Friends don’t just give friends surprise blowjobs. 

Then again, this was Eren Jaeger he was talking to. His logic didn’t exactly run parallel to the normal population.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

“No, I’m not going to tell,” said Eren. “You really think I want everyone to know I sucked your dick? That’s gross, dude. You’re gross.”

“Thanks a lot, Jaeger.”

“Anytime. Wait, but not like that.” He paused. There was a gurgling sound from the other end of the line, paired with a pained groan. “Fuck. I need to go, I’m gonna… ugh…”

The sound of heaving filtered through the phone and made Jean’s stomach turn. He ended the call quickly, not a fan of empathetic nausea.

For a while he laid like a brick, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He most definitely wasn’t going to the hospital. That wasn’t even a viable option. He didn’t do hospitals. Period. 

His initial solution was to just lay there until it fixed itself. It wasn’t as if he had to be in peak condition for a patrol shift. If it was just bruised then that may have been fine, but the fact that he couldn’t put any weight on it at all was a little worrisome. If he’d broken something and didn’t get medical attention it might fuck him up permanently.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, again reaching for his phone.

His last option was a compromise, and not one that he willingly made.

“911, what is your emergency?”

The voice was familiar and Jean wasn’t sure if he was comforted or annoyed.

“Hitch?”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

Her dispatch voice was polite, concerned. The complete opposite of Hitch herself.

“It’s Kirschtein.”

“Oh, you. Why the hell are you calling? Didn’t you get kicked off duty?”

That was more like it.

“Shut up, Hitch. Listen, I need you to send a medic to my place. I need to make sure my ankle isn’t broken.”

“There’s this place called a hospital. That’s what it’s for.”

“I can’t _walk_ ,” he said, offering his most compelling excuse. He wasn’t about to go into his aversion for hospitals with Hitch, of all people. “You want me to drag myself three miles?”

“Your arms are too scrawny. You wouldn’t be able to drag yourself half a block.”

“Are you sending someone or not?”

Her sigh was heavy, annoyed. “Fine, whatever. I think the nearest one is about ten minutes away. I’ll put you on hold while I radio them.”

The phone went silent but he didn’t hang up. He just dropped it on the pillow beside his head, his scrawny arms tired of holding it. 

A minute later Hitch’s voice filtered back through.

“They’re on the way. I told them to take their time. Not like it’s an emergency or anything.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“What’d you do, anyway?” 

“I don’t really know. It happened sometime last night.”

“You may have broken your ankle and you don’t know how.”

“I was drunk.”

She snorted. “Well that makes sense. I wouldn’t picture you as someone who can hold their alcohol.”

“You weigh twenty pounds. You’re probably out of commission after one fucking daiquiri.”

“You’d be surprised, Kirschtein. I could outdrink you any day.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” A beeping sound blared through the line, paired with Hitch’s low cursing. “I know I’m supposed to stay on the line with you or whatever but I have shit to do. You okay until they show up?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alright. Don’t die between now and then. I don’t want a mark on my record.”

“Thanks for caring, Hitch.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He whiled away the time in silence, resuming his prior activity of staring at the ceiling. He thought about reaching over and turning on the police radio on his nightstand but knew the sound would enhance his headache. He tried not to think about the night before but it was almost impossible. He supposed the memory of Eren sucking him off was at least a little preferred to the troubles he usually contended with. 

Then he was thinking about court again and he burrowed into his pillow with a groan, wishing he could just disappear completely.

About fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the front door.

“Hello?” said a female voice, muffled. “Paramedics. Are you there?”

“Yeah,” said Jean, his voice a little hoarse. He realized he couldn’t get up to go unlock the door. “I’m here.”

There was the sound of the doorknob jiggling and then the voice again, clearer. “Your apartment is unlocked. Is it okay if we come in?”

Eren and Mikasa must have forgotten to lock it when they’d delivered him home. Or, more likely, Mikasa had left it unlocked intentionally for this sort of situation. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m in the bedroom.”

He scooted further up his bed, sitting against the headboard. He was wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. Either Eren or Mikasa had stripped off his jeans the night before, and he couldn’t decide which possibility was worse. He didn’t bother trying to cover himself now, though. Paramedics saw a lot of shit that was more terrifying than Jean’s pale, skinny legs. 

A woman stepped into his room, a huge bag slung over her shoulder. Her eyes went to Jean’s ankle instantly, brow furrowing. When she looked up at him to ask a question all semblance of professionalism vanished.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “It’s you.”

The strap of the bag slid off her shoulder and it hit the floor with a subdued bang. She turned around and stormed right back out of the room. Jean heard her voice in the living room, stiff and cold. “This one’s all yours, Marco. I’ll wait downstairs.”

It was only then that Jean remembered her from the dispatch parking lot. 

The man that stepped in to replace her was the same too, down to the smile that creased his face.

“Hi, Jean. How are you?”

“Fantastic.” The sarcasm was automatic. Jean had never been able to find the off switch. 

Marco appeared unaffected. He crouched next to the bed and tucked a hand under Jean’s calf, adjusting his leg so he could better observe the damage.

“What happened?”

Jean sighed. He wished there was a good story he could tell, something about how he’d been fighting off a mugger to protect a pair of little old ladies. Instead he swallowed his pride and said, “Apparently I fell in the parking lot last night.”

The paramedic looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Apparently?” he repeated.

“From what I’ve heard,” said Jean, shrugging. “I don’t remember specifically.”

“Ah,” said Marco, as if that explained everything. “Why didn’t you get it checked last night?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” said Jean, letting his head fall back against the wooden headboard with a thump. “Please tell me it’s not broken. I don’t have time for this.”

“You know I’m not a doctor, right?” said Marco, sitting back on his heels. “You should really go and get it x-rayed. That’s the only way you’ll have a guarantee of what’s wrong.”

Jean squinted at him, tilting his head to one side. “You look pretty competent to me, Bodt.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not qualified to-”

“Just look at it,” said Jean, cutting him off. He realized how harsh he sounded and added, belatedly, “Please.”

For a long moment Marco just frowned at him, a deep crease furrowing his forehead. Then he shook his head and stood, pacing over to turn the overhead light on. Jean winced and recoiled from the glare.

“Scoot over,” said Marco, patting the edge of the mattress. He returned to his crouched position, waiting. 

Jean did as he was told, inching his butt over and dangling his feet next to Marco. The paramedic’s hands were warm on Jean’s bare flesh. He was suddenly a little self-conscious about being sprawled in his underwear.

Marco maneuvered his foot in different directions, asking repetitive questions about tightness and pain. He prodded around quite a bit but the touches were always gentle, never straying to the realm of invasive. Jean had started to relax a little by the time Marco released him and stood. 

“If I tell you it’s broken will you go to the hospital?” 

Jean considered him, trying to figure out if he was bluffing. “No.”

The sigh that whooshed out of Marco’s lungs sounded so exasperated that Jean couldn’t fight a smirk. 

“I think it’s just sprained,” he said, scratching at his dark hair. “You need to ice it every few hours. That’ll keep the swelling down. And stay off of it for a few days.”

“No problem,” said Jean. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

Marco’s frown deepened. The expression aged him about ten years. “I heard about your suspension,” he said. “Sorry. You must’ve been pretty upset.”

Jean searched for a hint of sarcasm but he sounded genuine. “Well I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Just gives people more reason to think I’m shooting people for the hell of it.”

“Not everyone thinks that,” said Marco. “Is there ice in your freezer?”

The question threw Jean off for a second. “Uh… yeah, probably. I don’t know, haven’t used it lately.”

Marco left the room with heavy steps. Jean noticed the paramedics wore boots very similar to his own. It made him miss his patrol uniform. Those boots were fucking comfortable. 

He heard rustling in his kitchen and the sound of the freezer door. He hoped Marco wouldn’t notice that there was nothing consumable in the apartment aside from beer. That wouldn’t be a great first impression. Well, second impression. No, technically third.

Marco returned with a Ziploc bag full of ice. Jean reached for it but Marco kept walking, sidling into the bathroom for a minute before returning. He wrapped a white washcloth around the bag before handing it over to Jean, who readjusted more comfortably and dropped the ice onto his ankle. 

“Here,” said Marco, grabbing the spare pillows Jean had thrown off the bed when he’d returned to the apartment a week before. “Raise it up.” He did as instructed and Marco wedged the pillowed underneath his foot, elevating it. “That okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You know, it might still be broken, or maybe fractured,” said Marco. “Like I said, without an x-ray-”

“I’m not worried about it,” said Jean, cutting him off before he could finish the spiel. “You don’t seem like a total idiot. I think you would know.”

“So I’m only a slight idiot?”

Jean grinned a little. “Exactly.”

Marco stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Jean waited for him to excuse himself and leave but he didn’t seem inclined to do so. Instead he asked, “If you did that in the parking lot how did you get up here?”

That was the last question Jean wanted to answer, so he returned it with one of his own. “Why do I smell coffee?”

“I saw your coffee maker on the counter so I started a pot,” said Marco, sheepish. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s good for hangovers.”

“You have a hangover?”

“For you, I mean.”

“Oh, right.” 

“I’m going to go check on that. I’ll be right back.”

He was gone again, leaving Jean staring blankly after him. There was something wrong with the paramedic. 

A couple of minutes later a voice called from the kitchen, “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

Marco was back shortly after, carrying a steaming mug that Jean hadn’t seen for a while. He accepted it gratefully and took a cautious sip, nearly burning his tongue. 

Marco reached for his free hand and flipped it palm-up, depositing two white tablets. “Aspirin,” he explained. “You look like you need it.”

Jean mumbled a thank you before tossing the pills back and chasing them down with another sip of bitter coffee. He put the mug on the edge of his nightstand and folded his arms across his chest, staring up at Marco. “What’s your deal?”

“Umm… I’m sorry?”

“Why are you doing this?” he said. “You should’ve just walked out when I said I didn’t want to be transported. That’s your job. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I wanted to,” said Marco with a shrug. 

“Why?”

“I like to help people?” It was worded as a question. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes!” said Jean, a little too loudly. “You can’t just waltz in here and be nice like that. Not to me, anyway. You should be acting like your partner. She hates me, and maybe she’s right. You definitely should, even more than her.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you’re black!” said Jean. “You were there. You saw what I did. Why would you bother being nice to me after that? I think every black person in this fucking city would like to see me dead.” He hesitated and glanced to his right. “Oh fuck, you poisoned my coffee, didn’t you?”

“No, I… didn’t…” Marco trailed off, and the look on his face made Jean regret every word that had spilled out of his mouth. Maybe he’d been a little hasty. “Jean, do you really hate yourself that much?”

Marco should have just splashed the coffee in Jean’s face. The shock from that simple statement was about on par with a face full of scalding liquid. 

“I’m being nice to you _because_ I was there that night.” Marco’s voice dropped into a low murmur, the crease again appearing between his brows. “That means I had to see the aftermath, but it also means I saw you. You were a wreck, Jean. You were so torn up about it that there’s no way you shot him for any reason other than absolute necessity. I know a lot of people, like Mina, who blame you. They think you have a superiority complex and that you’re racist and that you killed him on purpose. Just because they believe that doesn’t mean I do. I don’t think it really matters if I’m black or not.”

He knelt to grip the strap of the bag that Mina had abandoned, tossing the deadweight over his shoulder as if it was feather-light. 

“Be careful on that ankle,” he said, his voice becoming detached. “Call dispatch back if you change your mind and want a transport.”

He was gone before Jean could stop him. Jean didn’t know if he would’ve even tried to stop him. He knew he should say something, preferably in the form of an apology, but he didn’t even know where to start.

The front door clicked shut and he was suddenly reminded of the day Armin had left, his face crumpled, hurt.

Jean covered his face with his hands, groaning into his palms. 

“Why do I fuck up everything?”


	13. Chapter 13

It was three days later before Jean felt comfortable putting any amount of weight on his foot, and even then he did so with extreme caution. There was a twinge of warning whenever he stepped too hard but it wasn’t notably painful. He assumed that meant Marco had been right after all. If it was broken there was no way he’d be upright.

Before he’d started hobbling around he’d spent his time lying in bed, sustaining himself on delivered pizza and the takeout that Eren had dropped off on Sunday. That day Eren had stayed to chat for a while and Jean expected it to be awkward, but there was nothing uncomfortable about it. Eren was equally as annoying as usual. Nothing had changed. 

He’d hopped to the bathroom and back, using the wall for stability, and showered with his bad foot barely brushing the floor. It wasn’t easy, but he survived. 

The best part was that he had a valid excuse to skip therapy on Monday. 

When Erwin called him that afternoon, clearly irritated by Jean’s continued noncompliance, Jean explained what had happened. The chief’s ire was deflected for the meantime, and he was ordered to be there on Thursday whether he still had all of his limbs intact or not. 

“And like I told you last week,” said Erwin before hanging up, “you need to check in with me soon.”

On Wednesday, when Jean felt that he’d recovered well enough to leave the safety of his apartment, his first phone call was to Eren. Shift 4 was off that day, so Jean wasn’t concerned about bothering him while on duty. He’d had his police radio on every day all day. He hadn’t even turned it off while he slept. When a call came through it always woke him up, but it was worth it for him to know what was going on in the city. Since he was cut off from contributing, he could at least live vicariously through his fellow officers.

“You’re still alive,” was Eren’s greeting. “Imagine that. What do you want?”

“I need a favor,” said Jean, earning a muffled groan from the other end of the line. Before Eren could start complaining Jean added, “I’ll pay you, don’t start whining about it, asshole.”

“I’m not giving you a sponge bath. I don’t care how much you pay me.”

“No one could pay me enough to let you. I can walk now, moron. I already took a shower this morning.”

“Good for you. You want a gold star?”

“No, I want you to come pick me up. I need to go somewhere, and as much as I hate to admit it…” He hesitated, wanting to swallow the words. “I need your help.”

The line was silent for a long moment. Jean tugged his fingers through his hair, waiting. 

“You’re shitting me. You did not just ask for help.”

“Shut up, Jaeger.”

“What could possibly be important enough for you to suck up your shitty pride and actually ask someone for help?”

Jean sighed, already regretting the decision.

“I need to buy a car.”

  
  
  
  
Jean figured that Eren Jaeger’s love of all things automotive would at least convince him to tolerate a trip to the half mile of car lots on the outskirts of town. He didn’t quite expect the enthusiasm that hit him in the face the moment that he awkwardly climbed into the red Chevy, which seemed a little higher off the ground than usual. 

“Dude, it’s about fucking time!” said Eren, wheeling out of the parking lot as soon as Jean was strapped in. “I swear to god, you’re the only person I know who doesn’t have a car. It’s fucking ridiculous. I mean, how do you even live?”

“Well I had the cruiser to go to work and back,” said Jean, slightly cowed by Eren’s eagerness. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all. “Until a couple of weeks ago Armin drove me places or let me use his car. It wasn’t a necessity until now.”

“It’s always a necessity,” said Eren. “I’ve had a car since the day I turned sixteen. It’s like life. I mean, if you can’t _go_ anywhere whenever you want you’re just trapped, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“What kind do you want? I know a lot of the guys working the lots, I can hook you up. This bad boy was the best decision I ever made,” he said, reaching out to pat his dashboard with a grin. 

“I’d rather have something that didn’t cost half my paycheck to refuel,” said Jean, phrasing the statement carefully. If he insulted the triviality of Eren’s truck he’d probably get kicked out on the curb. “I just want a car. I don’t really care what kind. Something I can afford.”

Eren sucked in a deep breath and started talking about horsepower and body styles and velocity. Jean just let him go, catching a word here and there, regretting every decision in his life that had led him to that point.

It was a long day, to say the least. 

Eren insisted on driving through every single lot, pointing out the models that he thought were the best and spilling buckets of information about each one. Salesmen tried to approach the truck a couple of times but when it became clear that Eren could outtalk them they weren’t as eager to stick around. 

Finally, when Jean had talked Eren down from forcing a brand new, definitely unaffordable, and completely unnecessary Chevrolet 2500 on him, they parked at the edge of one of the used lots and walked along the lines of vehicles. 

Eren’s mouth didn’t stop running for more than three seconds at a time. 

“This model of Chargers is nice, dude. It’s a lot like the ones we got at the PD a couple years back, remember? They drove like a dream. This one would be a little different, obviously, they build the cruisers different, but it’s still a nice car. I like them in red, too, they look badass.”

“All of your cars are always red.”

“Because red cars are badass,” Eren repeated. “Come on, why are you so fucking slow?”

“I just started walking yesterday!” snapped Jean. “I’m trying to not break my ankle. Thanks for caring.”

“Want me to call Mikasa to come carry you?”

“I swear to god, Jaeger-”

“Gentlemen! How are you today?” The salesman who approached had a smile that automatically made Jean think of the wide slasher grin of a shark. “It’s beautiful weather to buy a car! Is there anything in particular you’re looking for? That’s a nice looking truck you have there. Are you maybe considering a trade?”

Eren looked like the man had just suggested that he sacrifice his firstborn child.

“We’re just looking,” said Jean, shoving an elbow into Eren’s ribs. “Thanks.”

The salesman either didn’t pick up on the dismissal or chose not to acknowledge it.

“I’d be glad to help you out! Is there a particular make you prefer? We have a little of everything. If it’s American cars you’d like to stick with we have a wide assortment. If you’re looking to do something different we have everything else, too. Hyundai, Honda, Kia… or if you’re looking to go a little fancier we just got in a _fantastic_ BMW, just traded in last night. It’s not even on the lot yet, but if you’d like to take a look-”

Jean walked past him, leaving the man to jabber away at Eren. That wouldn’t last very long. 

He strolled up the adjacent row of cars, looking more at the numbers smudged across the windshields than at the actual vehicles. During his time stuck in bed he’d scratched out a rough budget of exactly how much he could afford per month. He had a decent downpayment burning in his back pocket, but he knew even with that he couldn’t get anything extravagant. It would have to be something practical, which meant he would probably do best to make his decision outside of Eren’s sphere of influence. 

He was about halfway down the line when he stopped. The sound of the salesman yammering was somewhat distant, but unfortunately still audible. Jean stood rooted in place, staring at the sleek black paint, not daring to glance at the price on the windshield that was almost certainly out of range.

When he finally forced himself to look it wasn’t quite as bad as he would have expected. It only tore a small hole in his chest. It could’ve been worse.

“Eren! Get your ass over here!”

He did so with a huff, the salesman trailing behind like a lost duckling. 

“This one,” said Jean simply, pointing. “I want it.”

Eren snorted, a grin curling his mouth. The salesman started in immediately but was cut off by Eren’s own, slightly more vulgar sales pitch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Kirschtein,” he said, taking a step back to better observe the car. “This does not strike me as your style.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a fucking sports car,” he said. “You’re a nerd. Doesn’t add up.”

“Fuck you. I want it.”

Eren sighed and circled the car, picking up more details with a single circuit of the vehicle than Jean would have gathered with an information pamphlet. 

“’09 Mustang,” said Eren. “Nice paint job, pretty clean. Doesn’t look like it’s been run too hard. Not the best decision, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the fucking base model,” said Eren. “That’s why it’s so cheap. The damn thing’s packing a V6.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means it’s slow as shit. You need to find one with a V8.”

“I’m not going to race it. I just need a car.”

“Pick a different one.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gentlemen, please. Base model or not, this is a quality vehicle.” The salesman stepped forward and patted the hood of the car. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jean, fighting the urge to shoo the man away from _his_ car. He turned back to Eren. “Other than the fact it won’t be hitting the drag strip is there anything wrong with it?”

Eren threw his head back and sighed. Jean rolled his eyes at the drama.

“Go get us the keys,” Eren said to the salesman. “We’ll test drive the damn thing. Go ahead and print us out a copy of the Carfax too while you’re at it. Before we even start talking about it you should know there’s no way in hell we’re paying _that_ for it.” He sneered at the price printed on the windshield. “Tell Kitts we won’t even think about buying this shitty car unless he knocks two thousand off first thing.”

The salesman was taken aback. So was Jean, but he figured it was for a different reason.

“Right. I’ll, uh, go get those keys right away, sir. One moment.” 

He scurried off like a cockroach and Jean turned to Eren, baffled.

“What?”

“Dude, did you hear yourself just now?” said Jean.

Eren was confused. “What do you mean?”

“You just channeled the shit out of Captain,” said Jean. “You need to stop spending so much time with him. You’re turning into Levi.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“That’s exactly what Levi would say.”

  
  
  
  
The next morning Jean had to go to therapy, which was made slightly more bearable by the knowledge that he didn’t have to walk. Before he left his apartment he peered out his bedroom window at the shiny black Mustang. He’d strategically parked it so it would be visible from his room, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t looked at it at least a few times the night before to make sure it was still intact. 

As it turned out, the manager of the car lot, the man called Kitts, knew Eren from a few years back. Not only did Jaeger get the two thousand cut from the list price, but he also secured a $500 rebate and six months of free oil changes. Jean hadn’t been so thrilled about anything in a long time.

Maybe it was an irresponsible decision considering he might not have a job next week when he revisited court, but he was pleased that he’d done it anyway. He needed it after all he’d gone through in the past month. He felt he deserved something nice for a change. Besides, thinking about court wasn’t as painful as it had been a few days before. He felt it was going to turn out alright. That’s what Chief had said, after all, and he couldn’t remember a time when Erwin had been wrong.

Jean dressed a little more nicely than usual before heading out. He even ran a handful of gel through his hair to try and convince it to cooperate. Therapy wasn’t until nine. He left at eight-thirty and took the long way around, enjoying the simple pleasure of the purring engine and the feeling of the steering wheel beneath his hands. He hadn’t driven since his last shift on patrol, when the incident had happened. Jean hadn’t realized what he’d been missing.

He was reluctant to stop, but had no choice. The Mustang slid smoothly into a parallel spot in front of the office. Jean hit the ‘lock’ button on his key fob about six times before he felt comfortable leaving the car on its own. 

Treading the familiar path to Rico’s office dampened his mood a little, but didn’t completely crush him as usual. When he pushed the door open he smiled, partly because he wasn’t miserable and partly out of spite. 

“Good morning, Jean,” said Rico, eyeing him with a touch of speculation. “I wasn’t sure you would be back. Especially not in good spirits.”

“Well here I am,” said Jean, plopping into a chair and stretching his legs out. His ankle was almost perfectly normal, too, which only enhanced his good attitude. “What do you have for me today?”

Rico blinked at him over her glasses and leaned back in her own chair, still studying him. “You haven’t been experimenting with drugs, have you?”

Jean should have been offended, but he just grinned. “Nope, I’m clean. I’ll do a piss test if you want.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She continued to study him over the rim of her glasses, her frown gradually softening into an expression that was almost gentle.

“I feel that I should apologize,” she said finally, adjusting her frames and sitting back in her chair. “I know I was somewhat harsh during our last visit. Do you understand why I acted in such a way?”

_Because you’re a bitch?_

“I don’t know,” said Jean, his attitude not punctured by the mention of the last appointment.

“I was concerned,” said Rico. She placed her pen parallel to the edge of the file on her desk. Jean assumed it contained all the information she’d collected about him. He wondered what it said. “Until that day you hadn’t expressed any sort of emotions. No regret or sadness or pain. I thought that perhaps you’d shut yourself down completely as a defense mechanism. As it turns out, I was wrong.” She barely smiled, the corner of her mouth fractionally curving. “Clearly you have no problems experiencing anger so I assume you’re still feeling everything else, too. Now it’s just a matter of working on those feelings.”

Jean was still more than a little reluctant to talk about anything involving the incident, but he didn’t want to ruin Rico’s renewed faith in him or his own newfound optimism. For the first time since he’d been forced to attend therapy, he actually tried to answer her questions.

The hour went by more quickly than usual, and at the end Jean didn’t feel like jumping off of a building.

“So,” said Rico, making a final note and flipping his file shut. “Are you feeling any better now?”

“Yeah,” said Jean, surprised that it was the truth. “I feel alright. Not as worried as I was.”

“Good for you,” said Rico. A week ago Jean would have interpreted the statement as condescending. Now he took it as a genuine compliment. “I would still like for you to come see me on Monday,” she continued, “but you can skip tomorrow if you’d like. Unless you’d still like to come in. That’s perfectly alright too.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you on Monday.”

For the first time since he’d started therapy, he wasn’t a bitter, anxious wreck when he walked out the door. He drove to the PD, again taking the most roundabout path that he could manage. When he pulled up to the front of the building a couple of officers were loitering in the side lot where the cruisers were parked. They didn’t pay much attention to the Mustang until they saw Jean get out of it. Then Connie was dashing across the parking lot in a manner very unbecoming of an officer.

“Dude, is this yours or did you just pull a grand theft auto?”

“Of course it’s mine,” said Jean. “Just got it yesterday.”

_“Dude.”_

Connie circled the Mustang like a vulture. It was probably a significant improvement over the rundown Honda that Connie had been driving for the past ten years. 

Reiner wandered over too, sucking on a cigarette held loosely between the fingers of his left hand. “Look at that, finally got your own ride,” he said with a grin. “Way to go, Corporal.”

“Thanks, Corporal,” Jean returned, glancing quickly at the double stripes on Reiner’s sleeve. He’d been bitter when Reiner had gotten his title first, but now he couldn’t remember what those resentful feelings had looked like. “I’m pretty stoked about it.”

“When can I drive it?” said Connie, rounding the front bumper. 

“Maybe some time when you’re not on duty?” 

“What’re you doing here anyway?” said Reiner. “I thought you were banned.”

That made Jean’s gut sink a little, but it wasn’t enough to completely kill his mood. “Need to talk to Chief,” he said. “You know, court stuff.”

“Right. Well good luck with that.” Reiner slapped him on the shoulder. It was meant as a friendly gesture but it knocked the wind out of him. “See you, Kirschtein.”

Jean offered a breathless goodbye to the pair of them and stepped inside the PD. Sasha glared at him from behind her clear pane of glass but Krista smiled and hit the button to her right, unlocking the single door in the lobby. Jean pushed through and headed up the stairs. 

Levi lounged in one of the Chief’s office chairs, his fingers laced behind his head. He was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that made him look like an entirely different person. The change of attire didn’t soften the scowl that weighed down his face the moment he caught sight of Jean.

“Kirschtein,” he snapped, dropping his arms and sitting a little straighter. “What the fuck did I hear about you breaking your ankle?”

“It was just a sprain, Captain. It’s fine now.” Jean balanced on his good foot and lifted the other as if to prove his point. 

“Fucking Jaeger,” said Levi, dismissing Jean with a roll of his eyes. “He’s always so dramatic.”

“Have a seat, Jean,” said Erwin, gesturing toward the empty chair. “Levi and I were just talking about you.”

“Oh,” said Jean, a swirl of anxiety bubbling in his chest. He dropped into the spare seat, glancing between them. “Did I do something?”

“Of course not,” said the Chief. “We were just discussing how well you’re handling all of this. I just spoke with Dr. Brzenska on the phone and she agrees. I don’t think we’ll have any problems when we go to court next week. We should have all of this wrapped up and have you back on patrol.”

That was exactly what Erwin had said last time, but Jean didn’t want to be the person who pointed that out.

Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“Stop being so damn optimistic,” said Levi, his scowl intensifying. “Don’t you know that’s when everything goes to hell?”

“It’s better than expecting the worst of every situation,” said Erwin.

“No, it’s not. If you expect the worst then you’re never disappointed.”

Typically Jean would have agreed with Levi wholeheartedly, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Everything felt like it had fallen into place. He agreed with the Chief. He thought everything was going to be okay after all. They would get through one more hellish day at court, Jean’s actions would be proven justified, and he could continue his life.

He felt good for the first time since the shooting. 

He felt that everything was fine.

  
  
The next week he would find out that Levi was right after all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is so late, and I'm so sorry.

There were still protesters lining the front of the courthouse. There weren’t as many as last time, and Jean hoped that the novelty of the situation had worn off a little. Despite the lesser numbers, they still glared as he passed by. Even if they hadn’t been present at the last court date, he supposed they would have recognized him anyway. His face had been plastered all over the media for the past few weeks. Jean had often wondered what fame would feel like. This was never what he had in mind.

Levi ushered him through, carving a wide path despite his small stature. He wasn’t in uniform, but it didn’t seem to matter. The spectators parted for him anyway. It may have been the stony expression, or perhaps the badge and gun attached to his hip. 

Jean was defenseless as far as weaponry and he stuck close to Levi, following on his heels like a toddler. When they made it through the front doors Jean breathed a sigh of relief until he noticed the news crew pawing through their equipment near the door of the largest courtroom.

“Don’t look at them,” said Levi, gripping Jean’s elbow and steering him past. “They’ll try to ask stupid questions.”

The two of them sat in the back corner of the courtroom where they would have the best view of everyone else. They were about half an hour early so it was mostly vacant. A few individuals were scattered around the audience and a bored bailiff sat close to the empty jury box near the front of the room. He waved lazily when Levi and Jean entered. Jean couldn’t stop himself from staring at the raised platform where the judge would take his seat, the judge who had the power to strip Jean of his job or even have him arrested. 

He shook off the thought. He’d already decided to have a positive outlook. He wasn’t going to let himself be bogged down by toxic thoughts.

There were other cases being heard that day, which Jean was grateful for. At least not all of the attention would be focused on him. As more people drizzled into the room he saw a few faces that appeared as nervous and nauseous as he felt. They must have charges to contend with, too. He’d probably been the one to put some of them there. It was the first time he felt a spark of empathy for those on the other side. 

At about ten minutes until nine a tall woman with short, sleek hair strutted in, briefcase in hand. Jean’s heart fell out of his chest and flopped around on the floor like a beached fish.

“I was hoping she’d get hit by a train or something,” said Levi, his eyes following the blonde prosecutor as she stepped into the front of the courtroom and headed toward the district attorney’s table. “Guess we’re not that lucky.”

Jean swallowed and shook his head, but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t sure if he could. There was something about her that put him on edge, a bad feeling that draped over him like a venomous spiderweb.

Pixis didn’t make an appearance until a few minutes after nine. The judge had already taken the bench and was reading the general rights to the defendants in the audience. Jean’s attorney ambled up the aisle as if he was walking through a park, his relentless dazed smile present beneath his bushy moustache. His suit was rumpled. Jean wondered if he’d even washed it since two weeks ago.

Pixis weaved his way to the defendants’ table, pausing to wave at the judge as if they were old friends. Jean supposed they probably were. At least that was one thing in his favor. 

Judge Zackley didn’t respond to the casual greeting. He continued to power through his spiel, stopping only when he’d reached the very end. Since Jean had heard it multiple times before he didn’t bother listening. He was too busy watching the back of Pixis’s head, wondering what was going on inside the man’s brain. It looked a lot less promising than the back of the prosecutor’s head. 

The judge started calling names, nervous audience members creeping up to the podium in the center of the floor when they were addressed. 

The case was still in General Sessions, so the structure was much less strict than Criminal Court. While the judge conversed with the defendants the prosecutors called other names, reviewing cases with a number of attendees. Several attorneys took their clients outside to discuss particular details while others sat beside them in the audience, whispering quietly. 

Jean waited for Pixis to come fetch him, or at least turn to look at him, but he didn’t seem to be a priority. 

“What is he waiting for?” said Jean, hissing the words behind his hand. 

“Probably Erwin,” Levi returned, his mouth barely moving with the whisper. “I talked to him when I was on my way. He said he’d be here at nine.” His persistent scowl deepened. “Erwin’s never late.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting.

About fifteen minutes later Major Hanji Zoe bounded into the courtroom, looking more out-of-place than the idiots who’d shown up for their court date wearing blue jeans. Her hair was all over the place, which was typical, but she looked even more frazzled than usual. When she spotted Pixis she rushed forward, ignoring the looks that followed her up the aisle, and crammed herself between two of the attorneys to mumble in his ear. 

Without a word he stood and followed her out into the lobby, not sparing a glance for Jean as he passed.

“What the fuck?” said Jean, a little more loudly than he’d anticipated. The elderly woman seated in front of him twitched at the language.

Levi kicked him.

Only a moment later Chief Smith stepped into the room, scanning the audience until he located the officers in the back corner. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even make any type of gesture. He just looked at them and moved back into the hallway.

Levi was on his feet immediately, pulling Jean after him with a sense of urgency that made Jean’s anxiety spike.

Erwin waited for them just outside the door. A little further into the lobby Pixis stood with Hanji, who was gesturing wildly with her hands and speaking in a low, rapid voice that Jean couldn’t decipher.

“What’s wrong, Erwin?” said Levi, ushering them into a more isolated corner. Several people were looking at them and Jean tried not to notice.

“We’re having a slight problem,” said the Chief, keeping an eye on Pixis and Hanji across the room as he spoke. “Hanji can’t seem to pull the data from Jean’s bodycam. We can’t access anything from that night. Something went wrong with the device and she can’t figure out how to fix it.”

Jean’s veins were full of ice. He swallowed, the motion awkward, uncomfortable. He put his hands in his pockets to try and be casual, to look as if his life wasn’t crumbling around him like gravel. A second later he pulled his right hand back out, letting it dangle uselessly at his side.

This was not good. He’d been depending on that footage to clear him of any excessive force accusations. It was the only thing he had. He could tell them that he was a good cop all day long, but unless they saw it for themselves, no one was going to believe it.

“What about the one in his cruiser?” said Levi, the edge in his voice as solid as concrete. “It should’ve captured something.”

Erwin shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t at the right angle. The only audio was the sound of the gunshot. No voices.”

Jean took a subtle step back and braced himself against the wall. 

“What does that mean?” said Jean, his voice hollow. 

“It means we’re fucked.”

“ _Levi_ ,” said Erwin, his voice cracking like a whip. The Captain recoiled slightly, a quick wince that Jean barely caught before Levi’s face turned back into stone. Erwin’s eyes fell on Jean. It felt like the Chief was staring right through him. “It means we’re going to ask for a reset. Hanji will figure this out. All we need is more time.”

They needed more time. More time for Jean to be removed from his job. More time for him to sit around and think. More time for him to wonder what was going to happen. More time to suffer.

“More time,” he repeated, the words like sawdust on his tongue. “Sure, okay.”

Erwin’s hand gripped his shoulder a little too tightly. “Corporal,” he said, “keep it together. This is not the verdict. We’ve hit a snag but it’s fixable. Hanji will figure it out. I will not let this turn out badly, do you understand?”

Jean swallowed again, but there was no point. His mouth was completely dry. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Stand tall, Corporal. Don’t let them think you’re nervous. It’ll just give them more ammunition.”

Jean nodded and tried to follow his advice. “Yes, sir.”

Judging from the way Erwin looked at him, his faux confidence wasn’t exactly convincing. 

“It’s going to be fine. Levi, stay with him.”

Erwin left the pair of them and crossed the lobby. Jean figured he was going to speak with Hanji, who was getting a little louder as she got deeper into her conversation. Instead he bypassed her and went straight to the reporter who was still digging through her equipment. A moment after Erwin had started talking she’d produced a notepad and started scribbling furiously, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

“What’s he doing?” said Jean. 

“Dealing with the media so you don’t have to,” said Levi. “Stop asking stupid questions. Come on, we need to go back in.”

Levi’s mood was fouler than Jean would have expected. He wondered if it was all due to Jean’s situation or if it was also because Erwin had berated him. 

After they’d been sitting for a few minutes Jean leaned over and said, “What if the judge says no? What if they make us go to trial today?”

“They won’t.”

“But what if they do?” Jean pressed. “I don’t think Banana is just going to be okay with this.”

Levi released a heavy breath through his nose. “Her name’s Nanaba.”

“Whatever.”

“Zackley will reset it,” said Levi. “He used to work for the PD before he went to law school. He can at least do that much for us.”

Jean wasn’t comforted.

Twenty minutes later Pixis reentered the courtroom. Hanji was on his heels as he came through the door but she branched away to sit beside Levi. She vibrated in her seat, twitching as if her veins were spiked with an electric current.

“Why did you wait until this morning to check for the footage?” said Levi, his hiss slicing through the air between them. “The fuck are you thinking, four eyes?”

The frames of Hanji’s glasses flashed in the bright light of the courtroom. “I tried to get it last night. I thought maybe my computer was just glitching but I tried it at the office this morning and the same thing happened. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I’ve never seen them do this before.”

“Well this is perfect fucking timing,” he said. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course!” whispered Hanji. “Definitely! Absolutely! …Probably. In theory it should be an easy fix. I just need more time.”

“ _Jean Kirschtein_?”

A few seconds passed before he registered that his name had been called. When he realized he’d been summoned he jumped to his feet, sliding awkwardly across Levi and Hanji to get to the aisle. He paced to the front of the courtroom with his jaw clenched, trying to appear as if he wasn’t about to vomit. He saw eyes watching him from all sides, some more hateful than others. His stomach dropped when he caught the eye of a woman sitting on the very front row, her face familiar as the mother of the victim. She glared at him as if he was the devil, and Jean supposed that in her eyes he was.

He stopped at the podium, gripping its edges so he would have something to do with his hands. Zackley stared down at him from his platform and Jean felt as if he was being judged by the gods.

“Mr. Kirschtein,” said Judge Zackley, “your attorney has requested that this case be reset for trial in thirty days. Is that correct?”

Jean glanced sideways at Pixis, who nodded calmly from the defendants’ table.

“Yes, your honor,” said Jean, wishing his voice sounded less strained.

“Nanaba?” said Zackley, sliding his attention to the side. “Any objections?”

The prosecutor stood, unruffled by the suggestion. “May I ask on what grounds?”

Jean panicked for a moment, uncertain of how to respond. Then Pixis swooped in and spoke at his side.

“We just need a little more time to review some of the finer points of the case,” he said, smiling all the while. “The case was only opened two weeks ago. I don’t feel that it’s an unreasonable request.”

Nanaba considered them. Jean felt her eyes scanning him, as if she could see straight inside his head. It was disconcerting.

“No objection, your honor,” she said, resuming her seat with a great deal of poise.

Zackley nodded. “Then your reset is granted.” He made a note on a sheet of paper and gestured for the bailiff, who hustled up to the bench. “Give Mr. Kirschtein a copy of this.” 

The bailiff complied, tearing off a carbon sheet and placing it in Jean’s sweaty palm. A new date was circled in the center of the page, approximately a month away. “We’ll see you on that date, Mr. Kirschtein. You’re free to go.”

Jean had to try twice before he could form any words. “T-Thank you, your honor.”

He may have stood there indefinitely had Pixis not took him by the elbow and steered him away from the podium. The glares in the audience had intensified. Jean didn’t have to look back; he could feel them on his flesh, like a swarm of wasps.

Levi held the door open for him and fell into step at his side. Jean felt like he had a bodyguard, and he was grateful.

The reporter hastened over to them as soon as they hit the lobby.

“Jean Kirschtein!” she said, addressing him with a smile. “Could I have a moment of your time? Maybe you could tell me the story of what really happened. I’m sure the public would love to hear your side.”

It was only then that Jean recognized her from the news channel that he’d seen in the bar. He was surprised he remembered her at all. Most of that night was a little hazy at best.

“One more word and I’m arresting you for harassment,” said Levi, pushing Jean ahead. “If you don’t believe me then just keep pushing. I’ve done it before.”

That deterred the woman from following, but it also gave her something else to report. She scribbled furiously as they left, probably sketching out a story that painted Levi as a brutal officer who abused his authority.

Levi seemed utterly unconcerned.

There were fewer people gathered outside when they left, but those who remained were the most dedicated. As Levi and Jean pushed through, Hanji trailing somewhere behind them, a single voice rose in a shout, making Jean flinch.

“Killer!”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush stone. Jean came to a solid, shocked stop. Levi seized his arm with bruising force and dragged him forward.

Several other voices rose, the words blasting over Jean’s head like cannon fire.

“Killer!”

“Coward!”

“Racist pig!”

“ _Killer_!”

Two bailiffs had been propped against one of the courthouse columns puffing on cigarettes. They moved in unison to calm the crowd. By that point Jean had been half carried across the parking lot.

Levi yanked open the passenger door of his Explorer and shoved Jean inside before circling the front bumper to hop behind the wheel. Jean was glad he’d ridden with Levi. He was shaking so badly that he wasn’t sure he could even operate a vehicle.

“Bunch of ignorant assholes,” muttered Levi, glancing at his rearview mirror. Hanji had stopped to watch the irritated crowd with something bordering fascination. “Forget about them. They don’t know what happened.”

“Neither do you,” said Jean, his voice weaker than he would have liked. “No one does. They never will, either. There’s no proof that I didn’t just murder the kid.”

Levi slapped him on the back of the head.

“Shut the fuck up. You didn’t murder anybody.” His scowl deepened as he started driving, unshaken despite the display. “Besides, someone does know what happened.”

Jean just stared at him.

“I mean you. Idiot.” He settled back into his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other arm propped on the lip of the window. “You’re stupid as hell, but you’re a good cop. I don’t give a shit what they think, and you shouldn’t either. You know what you did was justified. I know you well enough to believe you. That’s good enough for me.”

After working on the same shift as Levi for a couple of years, Jean had felt that his Captain had learned to tolerate him at best. Knowing that Levi actually thought well of him was shocking. It made him feel slightly better, although he still had a long way to go before he could crawl out of the pit of his own misery.

“Anyway, Hanji said she’ll take care of it,” said Levi. “She’s a fucking lunatic, but much like you, I believe her. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Jean wanted to. He really did. 

But Levi’s words didn’t assuage his absolute certainty that none of this was going to go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, did you guys read the new manga chapter? My soul is crushed. Now I'm upset about Marco all over again.


	15. Chapter 15

Jean had experienced several occasions in his twenty-seven years during which he genuinely did not feel like participating in life. They were characterized by a complete avoidance of social interaction, forgetting the necessity of food, and a blatant disregard for personal hygiene.

It had happened before. When he’d been forced him to move schools in the sixth grade, when he’d been removed from patrol for two months when he’d broken his wrist on duty, when his mom had died…

If possible, this time was the worst of all.

Jean stayed piled up in a heap of blankets on his bed for so long that he forgot exactly what day it was. Court had been on Thursday. It was probably Sunday now. Maybe Monday. His cell phone was on his nightstand within easy reach, but he didn’t want to check the date because then he would see the missed calls and texts that he’d pointedly disregarded. Then he’d be forced to acknowledge the fact that he couldn’t completely ignore his life forever.

He’d ordered pizza recently. The box was still on the floor, clumps of withering cheese stuck to the inside. It had probably been the night before when he’d finished it. Or maybe the one before that. It was all running together.

The one thing he was absolutely certain of was that Shift 3 was on duty. Connie was on a traffic stop on the East end. Bert had been directed to a Disorderly Conduct complaint at the gas station on Baker Street. Jean knew Reiner would probably get there first because everyone knew how uncomfortable Bertolt was when people started yelling. He could handle it with absolute finesse; he was a great officer. But the discomfort was still there, and Reiner made it his mission to try and handle the less cooperative citizens. 

The police radio had been on since Jean got home from Court on Thursday. He’d stripped off his nice clothes, turned on the speaker, and curled into a useless ball of flesh in the middle of his bed. 

Not much had changed since then. 

Periodically his cell buzzed, preserved only by Jean’s habit of connecting it to the charger when he got into bed. It had been plugged into the wall since Thursday. He’d only bothered to look at it when he’d ordered pizza.

A call came through while he was lying there. The insistent vibration rattled close to his head but was easily ignored. Jean’s brain muffled the sound automatically. He wondered how long he could stay there before his muscles began to atrophy. 

He would probably be fine for the month that stood between the present and the next court date. He didn’t have any particular intention of moving before then. “Headquarters, 303. Ten-ninety-seven on that twenty-six.”

There was Reiner, as Jean had predicted. Bert checked in about two minutes later, but Reiner had likely already handled the worst of the situation by then. Jean tried to decide if someone would be arrested based on the limited information he’d gathered from radio traffic. He felt it was a fifty-fifty chance.

His phone vibrated again. Jean just sank deeper into his pillow and closed his eyes.

It was a couple of minutes later when Jean noticed the sound wasn’t going away, and another minute after that before he realized it wasn’t his phone at all. Someone was at the door.

The persistent knocking was punctuated by a voice, muffled by both the front and the bedroom door. Jean couldn’t make out all of the words, but the ones he recognized were enough.

“Kirschtein! Fucking… for days and we… this fucking door!”

It was Eren, and Jean wasn’t particularly surprised. He was probably the most irritating human that Jean had ever met. If anyone was going to interrupt his self-induced solitude, it would be Jaeger.

He wanted to yell at him to go away, but couldn’t find the strength to do so. Instead he flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sound to stop.

It didn’t.

About five minutes later there was a crunching noise from the living room. Jean sat up, the most effort he’d exerted in days aside from his infrequent journeys to the bathroom.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached and then the bedroom door was flung open with such force that it bounced off the wall. Eren caught it before it slapped him in the face, his glare finding Jean instantly. 

Jean collapsed back onto the bed.

“The fuck is your problem, Kirschtein? I’ve been calling you for days!”

Jean didn’t say anything. He rolled so his back was to Eren. 

“Are you listening to me?”

The radio crackled. This time Bert’s voice filtered through. “Headquarters, 304. Ten-ninety-eight from this location, one male subject ten-fifteen, en route to the detention center.”

A cool female voice that sounded suspiciously like Hitch responded. “Ten-four.”

“What the hell?” said Eren. His voice sounded strange. Jean assumed it was because the only voices he’d heard in the past few days had been laced with static. “Why are you listening to that shit? That’s creepy, dude.”

There was a click, and Jean finally moved.

“Turn it back on!” he said, voice raspy from disuse. He sat up and glowered at Eren, who was unimpressed.

“Have you just been laying there listening to dispatch?” he said. “Please tell me you haven’t.”

“Fuck you.” 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jean. “Worry about yourself. You need to work on your cardio. When you had that foot pursuit the other day you were so out of breath it was pathetic.”

Eren just stared at him, his edge of anger fading. “This really is what you’ve been doing.”

“Turn it back on and leave.”

“You’re a disaster.” 

To Jean’s displeasure, Eren gripped a handful of sheets and flung them off the end of the bed, leaving Jean exposed. He scrambled to retrieve them but Eren plopped down on the edge of the mattress, trapping the tangle of sheets beneath him.

“You don’t look so good, man. Are you sick?”

“Sick of your face, Jaeger.”

“Wow, nice comeback. So impressed.” Eren rolled his eyes. “But seriously. Have you even been eating? I can see your damn bones.”

Jean swatted away the finger that tried to prod at his ribs. He was grateful he was at least wearing his boxers instead of sitting there bare ass naked. “Why are you even here?”

“To make sure you’re not dead. I’m still not exactly sure. I mean, sure, you’re moving, but you don’t look like an actual person. When was the last time you showered?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Did you let someone borrow your car?” said Eren. “It’s not in the parking lot. I didn’t even think you were going to be here.”

A flare of panic bloomed in Jean’s chest. He was on his feet instantly, stumbling over to the window. He yanked the blinds open and stared down at his Mustang, neatly parked exactly where he’d left it. 

He looked over his shoulder at Eren, who grinned. 

“Well at least you’re still mobile. That’s a good thing.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a slug.” Eren stood and approached Jean, gripping him by the arm and dragging him toward the bathroom. “Get your nasty ass in the shower. You could fry chicken with all that grease in your hair.”

Jean tried to shake him off, but he was weak from days of immobility and a lack of food. He was easily towed into the bathroom. Eren turned the shower on and looked at Jean, hands propped on his hips. “Well?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re wasting away here, Kirschtein. You need to get your shit together. You’re going to be back on duty soon and we need you to be on point.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jean mumbled, watching the water fall through the clear glass door of his shower. “Looks like I’m never going back on duty.”

Eren rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. You’ve know Hanji. Do you really think she’s not going to figure out how to fix your stupid bodycam? She’ll get the video and you’ll be cleared, okay? Now get in the shower. If I have to smell you for another minute I’m going to puke all over you.”

Jean stood his ground for another long moment, the sound of water pattering against the shower floor the only sound in the small bathroom. At length he gave in with a sigh, reminding himself exactly how stubborn Eren Jaeger was. If he continued to refuse they’d be there all night.

“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair and instantly regretted it. Eren hadn’t been exaggerating about his filth. 

Trying to shake off his embarrassment, Jean hooked a thumb into the elastic of his boxers and paused, raising an eyebrow at Eren.

“Like I’ve never seen it before,” said Eren, huffing as he left the room. 

When the door was shut safely behind him Jean stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, spitting a curse when the cold water ripped into his flesh. He cranked the temperature up and swatted at the stream until it warmed. 

He stood under the showerhead for a while without even moving, just absorbing the heat and relishing in the sensation of the days’ collection of filth being sloughed away from his skin. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time scrubbing his hair, and nearly as much time cleaning everything else. By the time he’d finished, the hellfire temperature of the water was beginning to wane into the realm of lukewarm. He cut it off and dried himself lazily, the effort of showering having sapped away all of his energy. His hair dripped into his eyes as he emerged, the towel clasped loosely around his sharp hipbones. Eren wasn’t in the bedroom like he expected and Jean almost allowed himself to hope that he’d left. The sound of a slamming cabinet door from the kitchen successfully quashed that thought.

Jean pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and some old sweatpants that he dug out of the bottom of his closet. He was reaching for a t-shirt when the smell of food reached him and he decided that sustenance was a higher priority than clothing.

Eren was perched on one of the kitchen stools with a pizza box and an open beer. He took a swig and flipped open the cardboard lid. Jean’s stomach did a famished backflip. Maybe that pizza on his floor had been eaten a couple of days ago after all.

“I’m starving,” he said, descending on the food eagerly. He couldn’t even spare the effort to be annoyed by Eren’s company. 

“You should be. You look like a fucking skeleton.” Eren reached for his own piece, strings of cheese stretching thinly as he pulled it out of the box. “I got meat lovers. Bacon, hamburger, pepperoni… and of course sausage, because I know how much you love a good sausage.”

Jean didn’t rise to the bait. His mouth was so full of pizza that he couldn’t have responded if he’d tried. 

The entire pizza was gone twenty minutes later. Jean leaned his elbows on the counter and sighed, satisfied. He felt better than he had in days. He felt like a human again. 

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

“Why are you here?” said Jean. The aggressive edge had faded from his voice, leaving only a bone-deep weariness that persisted despite the days of inactivity.

Eren shrugged. He flipped the empty pizza box shut and tried to shove it into the trash can. When it wouldn’t fit he tossed it onto the kitchen floor on top of another one. Jean realized he’d picked up the box that had been in his bedroom. 

“You wouldn’t answer any calls or texts or anything, not from any of us.” 

“Us?”

“Me and Mikasa and Levi. We’ve been calling you for four days, moron. Didn’t you even notice?”

“Not really.”

“Dude, you have some issues.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“Chief was concerned, too. He said you were supposed to be at therapy this morning and wouldn’t answer your phone when he tried to call you.”

That solved one mystery, anyway. It was Monday.

“Fuck therapy.”

“Well you need to do something,” said Eren, eyeing Jean as if he expected him to collapse at any given moment. “Depression isn’t a good color on you.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“You need to fix your mood. I thought the food would do it but I guess I was wrong.”

“I’m fucking fine, Jaeger.”

Eren frowned at him for so long that Jean rolled his eyes and looked away, resting his forehead on the counter.

“Don’t seem fine to me,” said Eren. He bit his lip and eyed Jean with heavy speculation. “I can fix it, though.”

He returned to the bedroom, leaving Jean sitting alone in the kitchen. He would have been content to stay there indefinitely until he heard the rattle of dresser drawers from the other room.

Jean hopped off of the stool and shuffled into the bedroom. Jaeger was digging around in his underwear drawer, upsetting his already shoddy organization. “The fuck are you doing? Get out of my shit.”

“Shut up,” Eren mumbled, not looking up. “I know you have some somewhere.”

“Some what?”

Eren didn’t answer. Instead he crossed the room to Jean’s nightstand and yanked open the top drawer, rifling through the contents. Jean was too confused to stop him.

“Of course,” said Eren, withdrawing. “Should’ve been the first place I looked. Stupid.” He tossed something into the middle of the bed that Jean belatedly recognized as lube.

“Jaeger, what the hell are you… Why are you taking your shirt off?”

Eren’s arms were trapped over his head for a brief moment as he struggled to free himself. He managed to get the shirt off and let it fall to the floor, scratching at his ribs shamelessly. 

“You’re depressed as hell,” said Eren. “You need to get laid.”

“I need… Oh my god, stop taking your clothes off!”

Eren kicked his shoes off and had a finger hooked around the button of his jeans when he stopped. “What’s your problem, Kirschtein?”

“I’m not the one with the problem! You’re stripping in my room! I didn’t even invite you into my fucking apartment! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Are you not listening? You need to get laid, you’re so pathetic that your depression is rubbing off on me. You need to get over it.”

“If I was going to fuck someone it wouldn’t be you,” said Jean. “Put your clothes back on.”

“You weren’t complaining when I sucked your dick.”

“I was drunk!”

“Whatever. You were sober enough to stop me if you’d wanted.”

Jean stared at him, mouth open, words failing him.

“Look,” said Eren, “I’m doing you a solid here. Now take your clothes off and get your ass on the bed. If you’re nice about it I might even let you top this one time since you’re having a bad week. But just this once, and only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

Jean slapped a hand over his face. “I’m never telling anyone about any of this for the rest of my life.”

“Whatever, stop whining. You want to do this or not?”

“You’re kidding me right now.”

Eren unzipped his jeans and yanked them halfway down his hips.

He wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Jean thought he looked pretty damn serious.

A knock on the front door was Jean’s salvation. He turned his head toward the sound so fast that he nearly sustained whiplash. 

He took a clumsy step toward the bedroom door, almost toppling over in his haste to escape the situation. 

The door swung inward without invitation. A concerned Armin stood on the threshold, frowning at the doorframe until he realized Jean was staring at him.

“Jean,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey. I was just, uh… Did someone break into your apartment? Your lock is broken.”

“My bad,” said Eren, his voice carrying from the bedroom. Jean hoped he’d put his clothes back on. When he swaggered into the living room his pants were buttoned, which was a small mercy, but his chest was still conspicuously bare.

Jean realized too late that he was in a similar state of undress.

Armin’s eyes darted between the two, piecing the situation together so quickly that Jean could see the thoughts clicking into place behind pale blue irises. 

“I’m sorry,” said Armin. His tone didn’t change at all. It remained completely inflectionless, but Jean had spent so much time with him that he felt Armin’s hurt, raw and deep, whether he gave any physical indication that it existed or not. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Armin, no,” said Jean, his explanation rushed, incomplete. “It’s not what- this isn’t- wait, just hang on for one second and I-”

“It’s fine, Jean,” said Armin, his eyes flicking one last time between the two of them before he turned to leave. “I get it. I just stopped by because I assumed you’d still be upset and wrapped up in bed after court Thursday. Guess I was wrong.”

“Armin, please…”

The plea fell on deaf ears. Armin was gone, as was the semblance of comfort Jean had felt after being dragged out of bed.

Jean turned to glare at Eren, who leaned casually against the doorframe. 

“Don’t look at me,” he said with a bare-shouldered shrug. His skin was so tan that it made Jean look like a sheet of paper. “I didn’t do anything. So you want to fuck or what?” “Get out of my apartment.”

“Come on, what’s your problem now? It’s not like you were trying to get him back, right? Who would want to date a fucking investigator anyway?”

“I don’t want to date him but I don’t want to hurt his feelings, either,” snapped Jean. “Thanks for the food. Now leave.”

Eren rolled his eyes and slouched into the bedroom, retrieving his shirt and pulling it back over his head. He slipped into his shoes and scuffed back into the living room.

“At least you’re upright,” he said, eyeing Jean as he headed toward the door. “I can tell Captain and Mikasa that you haven’t crawled away and died.”

“I’m fan-fucking-tastic. Thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome, assface.” He paused on the threshold. “Sorry about your door, by the way. I kind of kicked it in when you wouldn’t answer.”

Jean couldn’t even bring himself to be angry. He had too much shit to deal with already. “Whatever, Jaeger. I’ll tell the landlord it was an attempted burglary. They’ll replace it.”

“Yeah, okay. See you, Kirschtein.”

When he was gone Jean crossed the room and kicked the door shut. It bounced back uselessly, refusing to latch into place. A sliver of wood had cracked away from the frame from Eren’s forced entry. 

Jean should call the fucking police on him.

With a sigh, Jean forced the door shut and twisted the rarely used deadbolt. At least it hadn’t been engaged when Eren had kicked his way into the apartment. The door would have been unsalvageable. 

With the front door secure, Jean returned to the comfort of his bedroom. He turned on his police radio and collapsed back onto his bed. 

The sheets needed to be washed. He’d been wallowing around in them for days. 

He sufficed by tearing off his pillowcase. He rolled over on the bottle of lube that Eren had unearthed and flung it across the room, cursing Jaeger with the best insults that he could think of. 

He sat up, grabbed at the sheets, and again buried himself in a pile of inadequacy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next chapter: Marco really is part of this story, I swear.


	16. Chapter 16

Jean wasn’t one hundred percent sure what time Eren had been at his apartment. He knew it had been daylight because the sun had burned his retinas when he’d looked out the window to check on his car.

He dozed for a while after that, roused occasionally by the crackle of familiar voices from the radio. Shift two was on duty and Auruo’s bossy ass wouldn’t shut up. 

“Nobody cares,” grumbled Jean as Auruo gave a long-winded, detailed description of the vehicle he was about to stop. He was hogging the frequency. If someone else had an emergency they wouldn’t be able to talk over his incessant bullshit. 

Jean had almost drifted back into the open jaws of sleep when a crisp female voice blared, more loudly than he expected.

“All units, code eleven.”

He didn’t move for a moment, still a little disoriented. He immediately placed the dispatcher as Hitch, but she sounded wrong. It was a long moment before he realized she was flustered.

That wasn’t good. Hitch was, as a rule, unaffected.

Garbled voices had already started feeding through the radio while Jean was sifting through his tar-thick thoughts. The words were distorted, indistinguishable.

He flailed wildly from the edge of the bed, nearly toppling into the floor as he reached for the radio. He seized it and rolled back to safety, fumbling clumsily for the knob. He swiveled it back a notch to access the frequency that the current shift was now using.

There were idiots all over the city who could go out and buy police scanners. When dispatch or officers were relating sensitive information they used the radio’s last channel to prevent unwanted listeners. The last frequency was number 11.

“-claims it’s not life-threatening,” Hitch was saying. “We have another medic en route. The man still has the knife. Every time they try to approach he starts swinging it. 

They’re waiting outside. The lunatic might hurt himself in the meantime but that’s better than having a medic get his damn throat cut.”

Jean sat straight up in bed, sheets tangled around his legs. He gripped the radio a little too tightly.

“Tell them not to go back in.” That voice belonged to Mike, the captain of Shift 2. The sound of sirens was audible in the background. Clearly he was on his way to the scene. “There’s two medics per ambulance. Have the uninjured one drive the hurt one to the hospital. The backup ambulance can take care of the subject with the knife once we detain him.”

“Ten-four, captain.”

Jean almost pressed the button on the side of the radio, a question burning on his tongue. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t currently a member of the police force and had no right to infringe on radio traffic. Slowly, he lowered the radio and continued to listen.

“204, what’s your twenty?”

“About a block away, 201.” It was Auruo again. Luckily the severity of the situation kept him brief. “I’ll be there in thirty seconds.”

“Check on the medic, don’t make contact with the armed subject until I get there,” said Mike. “Give me two minutes. I’m close.”

“Ten-four, captain.”

“All units, back on main,” said Mike.

The radio beeped, and the next time someone spoke, the voice was again distorted beyond recognition. Belatedly Jean switched back to the main frequency before leaning over to return the radio to its base on the nightstand. 

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Usually when dispatch received a medical call an ambulance was the only first responder that was sent. It was impossible to predict whether a victim would snap into a frenzy and lash out, which seemed to be what had happened. Maybe the attacker was a severe diabetic. Jean had seen cases like that, where the person was having a diabetic fit and had no idea what they were doing. 

The injury probably wasn’t serious. Maybe just a scratch. 

And there was no way that the wounded medic was Marco Bodt.

Jean collapsed back onto his pillow with a huff. 

Even if it was, it didn’t really matter. Marco was nothing to him. He was a nice guy, and maybe Jean had been more than a little rude, but it didn’t matter. He owed Marco nothing. Why should he even care if the idiot had gone and gotten himself hurt on duty?

It wasn’t as if Marco had been nauseatingly kind to him. It wasn’t as if the medic had made him an ice pack or brewed him some coffee or taken his side in the shooting controversy without even knowing him.

It wasn’t as if Jean had yelled at him for being too nice, or accused him of poisoning his coffee, or made a blunt, rude, overly judgmental comment about his ethnicity. Fuck.

Jean pawed around on his nightstand until he located his cell phone. He dialed the number before he could change his mind and leaned back against the headboard. After two short rings his call was answered.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

It was Hitch, of fucking course. She didn’t do any of the office work, but since running her mouth was one of her strengths it made sense that she was always picking up the phone. 

“Hey, Hitch, it’s Kirschtein.”

“Listen, you moron, I don’t know why you have such a fascination with calling 911 but I’m a little busy right now, so unless you’re on the verge of death-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, cutting off the threat. “I just need to know what’s going on at that call on the East end. Where the medic got hurt.”

“Hang on… 204, go ahead.” Her voice was echoed through the cell phone and the radio speaker simultaneously. Auruo’s voice replied, indicating that he’d arrived on scene. 

“Ten-four, 204. Kirschtein, they pulled you off duty. Why do you even know what’s happening at three o’clock in the morning.?”

Jean hadn’t realized it was that late. “I still have my radio. But it would be great if you could maybe not tell anyone. And by that, I mean don’t fucking tell anyone.”

“Whatever, I don’t really care,” she said. “Why are you calling me?”

“Which medic is it?” said Jean. “The one who got knifed.”

“Medic 3,” said Hitch. “Damn Marco, trying to be a hero again. He said it wasn’t deep, he’s probably fine. Why?”

“Fuck.” Jean pulled his knees against his chest and slouched over, accidentally banging his forehead into his kneecap. “I guess he’s on his way to the hospital?”

“Well yeah, Mina said she couldn’t get the bleeding to stop.” She paused as Mike’s voice burst through the radio as he joined Auruo on scene. “Ten-four, 201. What’s your deal, anyway?”

“Nothing, I have to go,” said Jean. Still rubbing at his forehead he slipped out of bed and fumbled blindly for the light switch. He’d stayed with Armin for so long that he was having to relearn the layout of his own apartment. When the light came on he winced, momentarily blinded. He felt like a damn vampire. “Thanks, Hitch. Don’t tell anybody I called, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Get a life, Kirschtein.”

Jean hung up and tossed the phone over his shoulder onto his bed. He grabbed the first decent clothing he saw, which happened to be a pair of crumpled jeans lying on the floor and an old t-shirt hanging halfway out of the closet that may have had more than a few holes shredded through the fabric. He yanked on a pair of arguably dirty socks, spent too much time trying to find his phone again, and jetted into the living room to slip into his shoes. He moved quickly so he wouldn’t have time to think about what the fuck he was doing. If he hesitated he would realize that going to the hospital made no sense whatsoever. 

So he actively kept himself from considering his rash departure and jogged downstairs to his Mustang, his anxiety ebbing slightly as he slid behind the wheel. He’d been in his self-induced isolation for too long. He’d forgotten how badass his new car was. 

He was even more grateful for the vehicle as it sped smoothly through the streets, potentially breaking more than a few speed limits. At least one of the perks about being a cop was that he wouldn’t get a speeding ticket.

Unless a State Trooper caught him. That would be a different story. 

The thought made him ease off the gas a little, but by that point he was nearly at the hospital anyway. It had been a fifteen minute drive from his apartment. The address where Marco had been injured, the place that Jean guessed was presently crawling with police, was much closer to the hospital. If Mina had driven him directly there, Marco was probably already receiving medical treatment. That was likely a perk of being a medic. There would be no waiting rooms.

Jean parked at the back of the building out of habit, though he did stop himself from pulling the Mustang into the reserved police parking. He hopped out of the car, hit the lock button about six times, and hustled to the personnel entrance. He pressed in the code on the keypad and the door slid open. 

There was a split second during which he remembered that, technically, he wasn’t a police officer. It was possible he could get in trouble for barging into the hospital like that, or at least get reprimanded by the Chief if he found out. 

The doubt passed quickly and Jean was striding down the hallway, glancing into each patient room in the E.R. in search of a paramedic uniform.

He tried not to think too much about where he was or the nauseating scent of antiseptic that flooded his senses. It was easy enough to stifle his distaste for hospitals while he was on duty. There were too many occasions that required him to drag fresh arrestees in for medical treatment or escort those in need of a mental evaluation to the appropriate professionals. It never bothered him when he was there for the job, but this was different. He didn’t _have_ to be there. 

His badge must have acted as a shield against the smell and sounds and vomit-inducing qualities of a hospital, because now that he was there off-duty, it was all too present. He wanted to leave, maybe even run out screaming like a little girl. Instead he curled his hands into fists, tried to breathe through his mouth to mute the smells, and pretended he was there for official duty. 

He patrolled three hallways before he caught sight of Mina leaning against the wall outside of room number 28, tapping the screen of her phone at an inhumanly rapid pace. The curtain of room 28 had been pulled shut over the wide door, concealing whatever was happening inside. 

Though Mina was one of the last people in the city that Jean wanted to speak to, he swallowed his discomfort and approached. 

“Hey, is Marco alright?”

The instant before she recognized Jean, he realized that beneath her derision for him, Mina had a kind face. Her default expression was open, receptive. 

Then a wall of stony contempt crushed that benevolence in favor of a dark scowl.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Did I stutter?” said Jean. “How bad is he hurt?”

He wanted to step around her and peek behind the curtain, but he was almost certain he would receive a kick to the crotch for his effort.

“As if you care. He went out of his way to take care of your stupid ankle and you 

treated him like dirt on the bottom of your shoe. Just go home.”

That was more painful that if she’d just nailed him in the balls.

“Look, princess, I just want to make sure the guy is okay. I don’t really give a fuck what you think, alright? If he tells me to leave then I’ll leave.”

The two of them teetered on a dangerous precipice, each of them waiting for the other to make a move. Mina was about a head shorter than Jean but he’d learned not to underestimate small women. Annie had taught him that lesson and she was not a gentle mentor.

Before either of them had moved, the curtain was pushed to one side and a man in a white coat strode into the hallway, eyeing the pair of them curiously.

“He’s all stitched up,” said the man, addressing Mina. “No trouble. Just make him take a couple of days off, okay?”

“Will do. Thanks, Dr. Nance.”

As soon as the man moved out of the doorway Jean ducked past Mina and darted inside, skidding to a halt at the foot of the single hospital bed. 

Marco sat with his legs dangling over the edge. His boots were discarded on the floor, bloodstained shirt crumpled next to them. His white undershirt was smeared with a little blood, but it was minimal. A neat line of stitches marched soldier-strait up the length of his forearm, the wound about six inches long.

“Umm… Jean?” said Marco, bewildered by the intrusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Marco,” said Jean, the greeting falling between them with the grace of a lame horse. He scratched at the back of his head as Mina peered into the room, unimpressed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” he said, looking down at his freshly mended arm. “I lost a little blood but not enough to be a problem. It didn’t cut very deep.”

“You were just lucky,” said Mina from the doorway, her bad attitude melting around the edges. “You shouldn’t have rushed in like that, Marco. It wasn’t safe. That guy was insane.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing,” said Marco. He shrugged and cradled his arm a little closer to his chest. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Mina huffed a sigh and returned her attention to Jean. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“At three o’clock in the morning?” said Jean. “Not particularly.”

“It’s fine, Mina,” said Marco. “Could you call Daz and see if he’ll come in and finish out the shift? I don’t think they’re going to let me work for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, I’ll call. While I’m at it I’ll tell him he needs to cover tomorrow night’s shift, too,” said Mina. Marco opened his mouth but she cut in sharply. “Don’t even think about arguing with me, Bodt. We both know you’re limited with your arm all stitched up like that.”

Marco closed his mouth helplessly as she turned and strode into the hallway, cell phone already in her hand.

Awkwardness filled the room like sand. Jean shifted, unsure of what to say now that he was actually there. 

“So, uh… you alright?” he finally said, again glancing at the line of stitches holding Marco’s flesh together.

“What are you doing here, Jean?”

“I heard you got hurt. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

Jean opened his mouth. No words came out. He shook his head and tried again.

“Because I… fuck.” He folded his arms tightly, shuffling beneath Marco’s stare. “I’m sorry for last week. You were just being nice and I was a dick. Thanks for helping me out that day. You were right. My ankle wasn’t broken, obviously.”

“Obviously,” repeated Marco. His face cracked into a smile that was brighter than Jean deserved. “Don’t worry about it.”

The fact that he could so easily accept Jean’s half-assed apology and dismiss the stinging things that Jean had said was baffling. Jean couldn’t accept that. There was no way it was that easy.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. He had enough to deal with; he didn’t want to shoulder this lingering guilt, too. “I’ll buy you dinner or something.” He hesitated. “Not that it’s going to make everything okay. I mean, I can’t take it back, but I-”

“It’s okay, Jean,” said Marco, interrupting what would have likely progressed into an awkward rant. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I want to,” said Jean. “I felt like shit after that. It wasn’t cool. Come on, it’s a free dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

Jean tried to quell his frustration. If he got too agitated he might lose control of whatever came out of his mouth. He was already in a hole. He didn’t need to dig himself any deeper.

He turned on his heel and paced to the counter across the room that held a neat scatter of medical supplies. Among them was a notepad and Jean assumed it was what the doctor used to scribble down prescriptions. 

Jean reached for a pen, fingers clutching uselessly at the front of his t-shirt.

Oh, right. He wasn’t in uniform.

Trying to null the twinge of mental pain, he scanned the counter again and snatched up a blue pen. He pulled the cap off with his teeth, then realized that probably wasn’t the most hygienic decision considering he was in a germ-infested hospital. He’d probably just contracted scabies.

He scratched a few digits onto the notepad and ripped off the top sheet, spitting the pen lid carelessly onto the counter.

“Here,” he said, turning back to Marco. He held out the square of paper. 

Marco took it. He scanned the numbers and raised his brows. 

“In case you change your mind,” said Jean, shrugging. “I’m going home. I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. Okay then,” said Marco. He tucked the note into the front pocket of his uniform trousers. His mouth was still curved in a soft smile. “Thanks for checking up on me. See you, Jean.”

Jean mumbled something unintelligible as he trudged back into the hallway. Mina’s glare found him immediately. He narrowed his eyes and scowled back.

“I know what you’re doing, Kirschtein,” she said. Her voice was quiet, a serpentine hiss. “I’m watching you.”

Jean snorted at the cliché. “Yeah, whatever.”

She may have said more but he didn’t give her the opportunity. He strode away, left hand stuffed in his pocket, right hand dangling free at his side. 

He felt a little better about the Marco incident. Even if Marco chose not to contact him, he’d tried. He’d tried to make amends. That was what mattered. 

All the same, he hoped the medic would change his mind.


	17. Chapter 17

A week later Jean had given up on the possibility of hearing from Marco. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. If anyone had spoken to him the way he spoke to Marco he wouldn’t have initiated contact, either. A shitty apology didn’t erase anything.

He’d spent too much time wasting away in bed, but he hadn’t completely exiled himself to his apartment. His shift wasn’t willing to give him the comfort. Eren and Mikasa had dragged him out to the bar three times that week. On each occasion Mikasa had designated herself as personally responsible for Jean’s alcohol intake and restricted him to four drinks per visit. 

On Sunday evening Jean drove to a row of condos on Ashe Street, idling in front of number 6. He’d never been there before, but he knew he was at the right one because of the beastly truck that was on proud display in the driveway. 

Now that Jean had a car of his own he somewhat understood Eren’s infatuation with the lifted Chevrolet. Even so, that didn’t mean that Jean had changed his mind about the absolute excessiveness of the vehicle.

After a moment Eren appeared in the doorway, locking up the condo before jogging out to the waiting Mustang. He patted the tailgate of his truck as he trotted past and Jean rolled his eyes.

“It’s so cramped in here,” Eren complained as soon as he got into the car. “I don’t have room to breathe.”

“Then hold your breath.”

“You’ll never get lucky in this car,” said Eren, glancing over his shoulder. “There’s not even enough room in the backseat for a quick fuck.”

“I didn’t buy it to fuck in, you moron.”

“There’s not enough space for good road head either,” he said, eyes sliding over to Jean. “It would just be an uncomfortable situation.”

“You make every situation uncomfortable,” said Jean, pulling away from the curb. “Stop talking. What are you wearing, anyway? We’re supposed to blend in.”

“I am blending!”

“You’re wearing all black. If that doesn’t scream ‘I’m trying too hard’ then I don’t know what does.”

“Fuck you. As if you look any better.”

“I’m wearing normal clothes,” said Jean, pinching the front of his gray t-shirt to emphasize his point. “That’s what you’re supposed to wear for undercover work. The keyword is _undercover_.”

“You’re such an ass. I spent days convincing Hannes that it would be okay for you to come with me and you’re not even appreciative.”

“You already knew I’m an ass. I don’t know why you sound so surprised.”

Jean drove the two of them toward the outskirts of town, to an area that was barely housed within the city limits. The purpose of the trip was to discreetly infiltrate a seedy bar that had been in operation for a few months. Reports of sketchy activity in the area had been on a rise since the establishment had opened and the Vice division of the police department – chiefly the director of the division, Sergeant Hannes – suspected that drug activity was becoming centralized from the location.

There wasn’t enough evidence to obtain a warrant, so Hannes had recruited Eren to pose as a patron of the bar in an attempt to gather any incriminating information. It was a mission of observation only. Still, it wasn’t ideal for Eren to go in on his own in case he attracted suspicion. Hannes and the other Vice officers had become recognizable to several of the individuals seen frequenting the bar. Anyone else on shift would have been an acceptable partner, but Eren had insisted that Hannes recruit Jean for the job. It wasn’t technically permissible due to Jean’s suspension, but Eren had convinced Sergeant Hannes to treat Jean as an informant. He was being offered a small sum of cash from the informants’ budget and his name would be wiped clean from any reports relating to the incident.

As long as no one else found out, everything would be fine.

Jean glanced at Eren, who was practically vibrating in excitement. He knew Eren had arranged this as an act of compassionate inclusion. Mikasa would have been the obvious choice. If Mikasa wore a tiny dress and high heels no one would suspect her of being an officer even if she shoved a badge in their face. 

Eren was trying to make Jean feel like he was still part of the department. It was stupid, but Jean quietly appreciated it.

He parked on the furthest row in the lot, backing neatly into the vacant space. The temp tag from the dealership was still taped to the rear window, which was in their favor. If they’d driven Eren’s truck the emergency plates would have been an issue.

“Just do what we talked about,” said Eren. He unbuckled himself and shifted forward in the seat, snaking a hand beneath his black hoodie to make sure his Glock was secure. Jean felt a little vulnerable since his own gun was still locked up in the Chief’s office. “I’ll do the talking. You just pretend to be a strung out street thug.” Eren glanced at Jean for a brief moment before pushing the car door open. “Good, you’re already in character.”

Jean mumbled a curse at him before yanking the keys out of the ignition and climbing out of the car. He pressed the lock button a few extra times considering the neighborhood they were in. If Eren noticed he chose not to comment.

They crossed the parking lot at a measured pace, Eren walking with his hands stowed in the front pocket of his hoodie, Jean with his car keys locked in a death grip. 

They paused just over the threshold, both of them taking a quick sweep of the bar. There was a fairly large crowd, as they had inferred from the volume of cars parked outside. Aside from the front entrance there were also a pair of doors in a small alcove off to the side that were clearly bathrooms. One other door was pressed against the back wall, unlabeled. None of the bar’s occupants looked particularly interested in Jean and Eren’s arrival, which was imperative. Neither of the two officers worked in that area of the city. Zone 4 was Annie’s responsibility, and it was a rare occasion that she needed backup. 

Eren made his way to the bar that was flush against the back wall, Jean following half a step behind. As unpleasant as it was to allow Eren command of the situation, he knew he was lucky to be there at all. If the Chief found out he would probably fire both of them.

They claimed the two stools at the far end, where they could have a full view of the bar. The bartender swooped over and they both ordered beer, presenting IDs printed with fake names that the PD had provided for such occasions. 

“What do you think?” said Eren in a low voice, once the beer had been delivered and the bartender had wandered away. He sipped his beer slowly. It was necessary to drink a little to fit in, but becoming intoxicated was not a good plan.

Jean swiveled, his back against the bar, pressing his own bottle to his lips as he swept the room. “Nothing too suspicious,” he said, voice a hushed murmur. “The table in the corner looks a little sketchy.” A group of five individuals were hunched over the tabletop, speaking in tones too quiet to carry. “And those guys by the door keep staring at us.”

Eren made a noncommittal sound. “They’re probably jealous because we’re the best looking bastards in here.”

“Or because you’re dressed like you’re planning to hold up a gas station.”

“I’m going to go check out the shady table,” said Eren. He slid off his stool and started across the room without waiting for a response. 

Jean saw the moment that Eren turned on the charm. It was like flicking a switch, his grin like morning sunlight.

For a moment it reminded Jean of the medic, Marco. He had a smile like that, but unlike Eren’s it was been genuine.

He shook off the thought and kept an eye on Eren as he chatted with the other customers. Eren’s left hand was curled around the neck of his beer and he used the other to gesture while talking, making himself seem more personable and approachable. After a moment one of the women kicked at a vacant chair and Eren dropped into it with a smile. Jean took another small sip of beer, keeping an eye on Eren while still remaining cognizant of the other activities in the bar. 

A cluster of individuals who looked barely legal were playing pool in the corner. Most of the noise in the room was coming from them. It was clear that they’d had a few too many drinks. They looked harmless, though, and Jean didn’t linger on them very long.

Eren threw his head back in laughter, subtly sliding his arm around the back of the woman’s chair. He leaned close and mumbled something in her ear that made her laugh as well.

The poor girl had no idea that Eren would probably run away screaming if he saw a woman taking her clothes off.

Jean felt someone approaching but didn’t turn to look, instead tilting his bottle back again and lounging even more casually against the surface of the bar.

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Jean shrugged one shoulder, letting a few seconds stretch by before he glanced over at his company. The man was tall, well over six feet and probably tipping the scales at about 230. He would venture a solid guess that the guy’s Body Mass Index was pretty damn low, too, if the amount of muscle packed beneath his skin was any indicator.

“Alright.”

“You look a little on edge.” Jean could feel the weight of the man’s gaze. It was with an effort of will that he kept himself from fidgeting. “What’re you here for?”

Jean tapped his fingers against the bottle in his hand, sliding his gaze sideways. “Just for a drink. Unless there’s something better.”

“I think I can hook you up,” the man said. He nodded toward the nondescript door on the back wall. “Come on.”

Jean hesitated. This was what they had come for, but it seemed too easy. He’d never had someone so willingly offer up drugs like that. He looked back to Eren, who was still absorbed in his conversation on the other side of the room. Eren should have been the one receiving this offer, not Jean. Jean technically wasn’t even supposed to be there. Jean didn’t even have a gun, and something about the man standing beside him felt dangerous. He was massive, he dealt in drugs, he was at this sketchy ass bar…

But this was Jean’s job, and he hadn’t been allowed to do it in too long.

He slid off the stool and started toward the door, feeling the man pacing along behind him. When he pushed through the door he spared one last glance at Eren that confirmed he hadn’t noticed Jean’s movement. 

That wasn’t ideal, but it didn’t mean Eren wouldn’t be able to find him if necessary. 

The back room was vacant, which made Jean relax a little. There was no ambush waiting. Maybe this was just going to be a simple job after all. 

He wouldn’t get credit for busting the operation since he wasn’t officially there, but it would be satisfying all the same. 

“You got cash?” the man said, stepping across the dirty wooden floor toward a battered desk. He slid a drawer open. Jean couldn’t see what was inside, which unnerved him. His fingers itched for the grip of a pistol.

He stepped a little closer, keeping his back turned to the wall. 

“Of course. I don’t expect shit for free.”

“That’s surprising,” said the man. He turned to face Jean. One arm was held closely to his side, something in his grasp that Jean couldn’t see. “Cops think they’re entitled to whatever the fuck they want.”

Jean blinked once, hoping he’d misheard. The man’s arm shifted, the barrel of a gun blinking into sight. 

Jean’s heart leaped into his throat. He turned to run, because that was all he could do. He was unarmed, unprepared. 

He didn’t make it to the door. Something solid slammed into the back of his head and he crashed to the floor, pain spiderwebbing across his skull.

“Not just any cop, either.” The voice was distant, like cotton had been pressed into Jean’s ears. “The one who fucking killed Eli. He was my little cousin, you know that, pig?” His boot cracked into Jean’s side, flipping him over. Jean clutched at his ribs and curled into a ball, trying to protect his vital organs. “You wearing a wire? Fucking cops think they can come in here and do whatever they fuck they want.”

His hand gripped Jean’s arm and yanked him onto his back. A large hand flattened against Jean’s chest, searching for any hidden technology. 

He wouldn’t find anything. Eren was the one with the wire.

_Eren_.

“Jaeger!” the shout was hoarse, desperate. “Ten-forty! Back door! Get your ass-”

The gun cracked across Jean’s jaw, effectively silencing him. He rolled to the side and spat blood onto the filthy floor, surprised that none of his teeth had been knocked loose.

“He’s not going to hear you,” the man said, crouching over Jean. “My friend is taking care of your partner out there. Both of you motherfuckers are going to disappear tonight.” Something cold pressed against the back of Jean’s neck. He pretended it wasn’t a gun. “This is what you get, racist cunt. This is what you deserve.”

There was a deafening bang.

Jean flinched so violently that he smacked his face against the floor.

The door had been flung open with so much force that it hit the wall. Eren stood in the doorway, Glock leveled at the man hovering over Jean. 

“Police!” Eren shouted. “Put the gun down or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”

The pressure on the back of Jean’s neck was relieved. He raised his head to find the man redirecting his aim, the barrel sweeping across the room toward Eren.

Jean shifted his weight, threw a kick from the floor, and slammed his foot into the man’s balls so hard that he immediately doubled over, clutching at his crotch.

Jean was on him in an instant, ignoring the stabbing pain that lanced across his ribs, the agony that blared inside his head. He couldn’t bring the man to the ground but he tackled him into the wall, the pistol clattering to the floor at their feet. The man jabbed an elbow into Jean’s side, sending him stumbling onto his ass. Before either of them could recover Eren was there, wrenching the man’s arms behind his back and slapping on a pair of cuffs. The man resisted but Eren’s grip was firm, unbreakable. He nudged the discarded weapon with his foot and it skittered across the floor toward Jean. Jean picked it up and unloaded it. The cartridge slapped against the floor, a single tinkling bullet following. It had been in the chamber. It had almost been in Jean’s head.

“On the fucking ground,” Eren snarled. He slammed his heel into the back of the man’s knee and forced him to cooperate. He patted the man down as he struggled. When he was satisfied there were no weapons hidden on his body or within his reach Eren turned to Jean, who hadn’t yet crawled out of the floor.

“You alright, Kirschtein?” he said, extending a hand. 

Jean considered it for a moment before reaching out and allowing Eren to pull him to his feet. He swayed and would have fallen right back down if Eren hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Shit. You probably have a concussion,” he said, eyeing the blood oozing down the back of Jean’s neck and drizzling between his lips. “Fuck, we’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“I almost died,” said Jean, “but I’m glad you have your priorities straight.”

“Hannes should’ve already sent someone this direction,” said Eren. “He said he’d be listening.”

“Great,” said Jean. He stumbled back a few steps and supported himself against the wall. “Maybe if I get out before then they’ll never know I was here.”

“You can’t even walk. You get in that car and you’re going to kill someone.”

“I’m not getting in my fucking car. I’m not bleeding on the upholstery.”

“Oh my god, Kirschtein. Go sit outside, you need to go to the hospital.” Eren tucked his chin toward his chest and said, loudly, “You hear that, Hannes? Ambulance. Now.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“I don’t do hospitals unless I have to.”

“Well tonight you have to.”

“Eren-”

“Shut your mouth. You’re bleeding all over the place. Do you seriously think you don’t need medical attention?”

Jean wanted to say no, but knew it would be at least a minor lie. “I can just go to the doctor tomorrow.”

“You might be dead by tomorrow. Go sit outside and wait. _Now_.” He turned on his heel and stormed over to the man cuffed on the floor. “You too, asshole. Outside. Your ride is on its way.”

“Fuck you.”

Eren kicked him. “No, fuck _you_.”

By the time Eren wrangled the man to his feet Jean was already stepping back into the public area of the bar. There was a significantly fewer number of people there. Many of them must have fled when they heard the fight. A man slightly less large than Jean’s attacker was slumped against the wall, hands trapped behind him in a fashion that indicated he was cuffed.

Jean walked past him and stepped outside, leaning against the outside of the building. He remained that way for approximately thirty seconds before he slumped into a useless heap on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. He’d broken ribs before. This hurt, but not quite like that. They were maybe bruised at the worst. A hospital visit wasn’t necessary. It would be just like his ankle. He could rest for a few days and be good as new.

He turned his head and spat more blood onto the sidewalk. His tongue prodded at each tooth on the right side of his mouth, confirming that none of them were loose. That wasn’t too bad, either. He could live with it.

When he pressed a hand to the back of his head it came away wet. 

That might be a slight problem.

Then again, it probably wouldn’t kill him.

Hannes was there two minutes later. His gray impala wheeled into the parking lot with a screech of tires, parking haphazardly with one wheel on the sidewalk. He hopped out and took one look at Jean before starting for the door.

“Ambulance will be here in five,” he said as he passed.

“Thanks for the concern,” Jean mumbled, raising his head again as coruscating blue lights appeared in his field of vision. 

The new arrival drove one of the department’s Crown Vics. Jean didn’t know what shift was working so he didn’t even know who to expect. 

When Ymir stepped out of the vehicle Jean let his head fall back against the brick wall of the building with a groan. He regretted it instantly.

“Damn, Kirschtein. You get in a fight with a little girl again?”

“That bitch was not little. She wasn’t a pound under 300.”

“She was also fifteen years old.”

“She snuck up on me.”

Ymir snorted, staring down at Jean with a smirk. “You gonna die in the next five minutes or can I go inside and figure out what the hell is going on?”

“Go ahead, I’m fine.”

“Alright. Don’t run off.” Ymir strode to the door, chuckling at her own joke. 

Jean clenched his jaw then immediately released the pressure when it shot a jolt of pain into his skull. He held his ribs more tightly and hunched over, head hanging heavily. Warm blood seeped through his hair, an occasional drip hitting the sidewalk between his feet.

A few minutes later Ymir hauled Jean’s assailant out of the bar. She steered him easily toward her patrol car as if he didn’t outweigh her by about a hundred pounds. She shoved him inside and shut the door. Jean tried to ignore the man’s glare from the back of the patrol vehicle.

An ambulance arrived just as Eren and Hannes exited the bar, accompanied by the accomplice. He was forced onto the ground near Jean, who assumed they were waiting on another officer to arrive so they weren’t forced to transport two offenders in the same car. That wasn’t exactly safe.

Jean felt a quick, shaky pang of nerves as the ambulance door swung open and the driver jumped out. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared when he recognized the man as Thomas, a medic he’d met a few times too many.

Somewhere deep down Jean had been hoping Marco was on duty. That was stupid, though. Even though he knew Marco would have patched him up better than Thomas’s stupid ass it would have been an uncomfortable situation. Marco clearly didn’t want to speak to Jean.

Jean swallowed his pride and complied with the medic’s requests. He followed the stupid flashlight with his eyes, told him the year and the current president, and raised his shirt up so Thomas could probe searching fingers along his ribcage.

“You definitely have a concussion,” Thomas concluded, “but I don’t think anything is broken.”

“Great. So I can go home?”

“Well no. You need to be under observation for the head injury. You’ll probably need an x-ray, too, to make sure your skull isn’t fractured.”

“It’s not. I’m fine.”

“Just go with him.” Hannes had approached and stood a few steps behind Thomas. He looked absolutely defeated. “This is bad enough already. Don’t make it worse.”

“I don’t need to. I’m seriously-”

“Levi is coming.” Eren’s voice was low, subdued. “If I were you I’d leave before he gets here. It’s not going to be good.”

If Jean had thought he had a chance to talk his way out of a hospital visit he would have stayed and kept pushing. Despite his reluctance, he knew he was going to end up in a hospital bed either way. He would rather do so without facing the wrath of Captain Levi first. 

“Okay then. Help me up.”

“Just stay there,” said Thomas. “I’ll get the stretcher and-”

“You bring that fucking stretcher over here and you’ll be the one riding on it, Wagner.”

In the end Jean walked to the ambulance. Eren matched his pace, one arm on Jean’s elbow to keep him in a straight line. He managed to clamber up the steep ambulance steps, Eren frowning up at him from the ground.

“You think Levi would believe you just happened to be here having a drink?” said Eren, the question dead, hopeless.

“I think if you tell him an obvious lie like that he’ll rip out your soul.”

Eren sighed, deflating. “You’re right. Fuck.”

“Here.” With a little difficulty, Jean maneuvered his keys out of his pocket and tossed them down to Eren, who caught them automatically. “You can drive it home. When Levi gets here you can blame everything on me if you want. I’m going to get cut from the PD after my next court date anyway.”

“No you’re not. Call me tomorrow so I know you’re not dead.”

“Yeah, whatever. Good luck.”

“You too.”

Thomas closed the rear doors of the ambulance after his partner slouched inside. 

“You look pretty rough, man,” he said. Jean thought his name was Daz but he wasn’t completely sure.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jean. He sat on the stretcher secured in the center of the floor and hunched over. “Let’s just get this over with.”


	18. Chapter 18

The trip to the E.R. went about as well as Jean had expected. The worst part was when they arrived, parked beneath the overhang at the rear of the building, and the two medics refused to allow Jean to walk in. Instead he was forcibly wheeled inside on the stretcher, given a flimsy paper gown, and assigned to one of the bland hospital rooms for the remainder of the night. The doctor insisted that he stay for observation. Jean interpreted that to mean that a nurse would come by every half hour to rudely wake him up.

He was there for about two hours before his visitor arrived.

He would’ve pretended to be sleeping if he’d thought it would work.

“Kirschtein.” 

Despite the Captain’s small stature, his presence made Jean feel as if the room had suddenly shrank several sizes. He was trapped in a railed bed with an IV in his arm. There was no way to escape.

“…Captain.”

Levi moved further into the room, yanking the curtain closed over the door to provide a measure of privacy.

Jean reasoned that it was so Levi could kill him with no witnesses.

The Captain stopped at the edge of the bed, frowning down at Jean with a scowl so intense that Jean felt his face begin to singe.

“You want to try and explain this shit to me?”

The honest answer was “not really”, but that wouldn’t be satisfactory.

“It was a mistake, sir,” said Jean. That was true enough. 

“A mistake,” repeated Levi, face twisting as if the word was bitter on his tongue. “A _mistake_? You made a mistake when you backed into that old lady’s mailbox last winter. This wasn’t a mistake. You almost got yourself _killed_ , Kirschtein.”

Jean swallowed, throat clenching. Levi wasn’t in uniform. He was dressed in jeans and a slightly wrinkled t-shirt, a clear indicator that he’d rolled out of bed and headed over to the bar when he’d been informed of the incident. His lack of starched uniform and absent equipment didn’t detract from his natural intimidation. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal,” Jean said. He knew the excuse wasn’t good enough, but he had to say _something_. “We were just going to take a quick look, see if there was anything sketchy going on. We didn’t know-”

“Not the point,” said Levi, sharp voice cutting Jean short. “If this happened to any other officer it would be written off as a job hazard. You aren’t an officer, Kirschtein. Not right now. Do you know how much shit you’re going to get into if the media finds out about this?”

It wasn’t something that Jean wanted to think about.

“Hannes is a fucking idiot,” said Levi, “and he’s not going to get out of this scot-free. It wasn’t all his fault, though. Do you know who’s really going to take the fall for this?”

Jean didn’t say anything. He knew, he just hoped he was wrong.

“I know fucking Jaeger talked you into this,” the Captain continued, his glare unfaltering. “He told me that much. As fucking ignorant as you are, I kind of get it. You’ve been kicked to the fucking curb. I’ve been there. You’ll jump at the chance to get out and actually _do_ something instead of sitting on your ass. Jaeger should’ve known better, the fucking moron. This is going to hurt him more than it hurts you. Maybe you should’ve thought about what might happen to him instead of just looking out for yourself.”

That hurt worse than the pistol whipping that had nearly cracked his skull. Eren had been there for him more than anyone, as baffling as that was. Knowing that Eren’s position might be jeopardized because Jean had gone along with his stupid plan was agonizing.

“I didn’t mean for him to get in trouble,” said Jean, subdued. “I never would’ve agreed if I’d known this would happen.”

“But you did agree,” said Levi. “You fucked up, Kirschtein. Suspended means fucking suspended. You went against your orders. That’s enough to get you cut permanently. Do you understand that?”

Jean felt the flush rising to his cheeks, the slow burn of dying embers. “Yes, sir.”

“Hannes will probably make it because he’s been with the department for twenty damn years. Jaeger’s stupid ass might be fired, though. That idiot knew better. He admitted that he’d orchestrated this. He told me it was his idea. When Erwin hears about this-”

“It wasn’t Eren’s fault,” said Jean, talking over him. Levi looked annoyed by the interruption but Jean continued. “It was mine, all of it was. If anyone’s getting fired it should be me. Eren mentioned the undercover op and I made him convince Hannes it was a good idea for me to tag along. Tell Chief that, all right? Tell him it wasn’t Eren’s fault.”

Levi was unimpressed. “Both of you are fucking morons, you know that? I should tell Erwin to fire the both of you. Maybe my shift will get some officers with a little common sense.”

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. Sorry doesn’t do shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunching shut. The rings beneath his eyes looked even darker than usual. 

The longer Levi stood, his mere presence suffocating, the more uncomfortable Jean felt.

That was probably intentional.

When Levi emerged from the brief respite the edge of his indignation had been slightly dulled. “I’ll talk to Erwin but I don’t know what good it’ll do. The report will be bad enough to fuck both of you, but maybe we can at least keep this shitstorm out of the press. I don’t think you need any more bad publicity, do you?”

“No, sir. Thank you, Captain.”

“Do you have anything to add to the official report?” said Levi, his glare fading into his usual stoic façade. It was the same face he used while on duty, when dealing with citizens that he would rather strangle than endure. “Why’d the guy flip on you, anyway? Did you provoke him?”

“Of course not,” said Jean. “He, uh… recognized me. From the news and stuff, I guess.”

“So?”

“He said he was the dead kid’s cousin.” His voice dropped into a monotone. “He said I deserved to die, too.”

Jean felt Levi’s scrutiny but his gaze was fixed firmly on the threadbare sheets pooled around his waist. 

“Fantastic.” The single word was flat, inflectionless. “You watch yourself, Kirschtein. He’s probably not the only person in this town who’d like to see your brains splattered on the pavement.”

That was far from comforting.

“I’ll call you if you’re fired,” said Levi. He started toward the curtained exit but paused before pushing his way through. He dipped a hand into his pocket and tossed a key ring onto the bed. “Your car is parked in the lot. Don’t even fucking think about driving until the doctor clears you.” 

“I won’t.”

“And don’t let Jaeger beat himself up about this. He takes things to heart. It’ll fucking kill him someday. Call him tomorrow when you’re released and make sure he’s doing okay, got it?”

The sudden concern was disorienting, but Jean wasn’t about to protest. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Don’t die from that head wound. I’m not in the mood for a funeral.”

He whisked the curtain to the side and stormed into the hallway. 

Jean slumped into his flat pillows and stared at the ceiling, feeling absolutely suffocated by all the concern.

He sat that way for a while, neck stretched at a slightly uncomfortable angle, the back of his head throbbing where a thick square of gauze had been applied. The doctor had offered him some pain pills but he’d refused. Tape was looped around to his forehead, holding the bandage in place. Luckily the cut hadn’t been deep enough for major surgery. He got to keep all of his hair. At least, he’d get to keep all of his hair that wouldn’t get ripped out when he had to remove the tape.

Maybe he would let Eren peel the tape off. Causing Jean pain was sure to put Jaeger in a better mood.

A soft tap on the doorframe pulled Jean out of his isolated misery. He raised his head and found a freckled face staring at him. It was the last person he’d expected to see and he felt a ripple flash through his nerves.

“Marco?” he said, suddenly conscious of his less-than-attractive position. He straightened and tucked the thin sheet around himself, trying to cover as much of the crisp hospital gown as possible. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was an incident,” he said, still hovering in the doorway. He was in his medic uniform, a radio clipped to his belt. Jean assumed he was in the middle of a shift. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fantastic.” 

Marco was smiling a little, as always, but it looked forced, uncertain. Jean wondered why he looked so uncomfortable.

“Why are you just standing there?” said Jean, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You can come in here, you know.”

“I didn’t want to just barge in,” said Marco, shrugging as he took a few steps inside the room. “I didn’t know if you wanted me here.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” said Jean. 

Marco just shrugged again, choosing not to comment. He inched forward a little more and eyed the bandage wrapped around Jean’s head. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The doctor said I have a concussion but it’s just mild. The chances that I’ll die from it are very slim.”

Marco’s stare dipped to Jean’s busted lip.

“Bruised jaw too,” said Jean. “Think one of my teeth is chipped but it’s not loose so I guess it’s okay. My ribs hurt like a bitch, but the x-ray didn’t show any breaks or fractures so that’ll probably be fine in a day or two. I’ll make it.”

Marco studied him for a long moment. Jean expected the medic to say something serious about how he shouldn’t have been there in the first place or about how irresponsible he was. 

Instead Marco laughed a little, his smile finally reaching his eyes.

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” said Marco, grinning down at Jean. 

Jean felt his mouth twitch. “Yeah, well, I’m not really here on purpose.”

“Neither was I.”

“How’s your arm, by the way?” said Jean, wishing he’d remembered to ask sooner. 

“Got the stitches out already,” said Marco, holding his forearm parallel to his chest. A flesh-colored wrap covered the injury. “It’s healing pretty quickly. To be honest the stitches may not have even been necessary. Everyone was being dramatic.”

“You got knifed. If anything deserves drama, that’s it.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Marco dropped his arm back to his side and pointedly changed the subject. “I heard a little about what happened. Are you going to get in trouble?”

The anxiety that had lifted upon Marco’s arrival drifted back over Jean like fog. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Can’t get in much more trouble than I am already, though.”

Marco took another step closer and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, sighing as he stretched out his legs. “Everything will work out for you. It’ll turn out okay.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a ball of fucking sunshine.”

Marco snorted, tilting his head to look at Jean. “You know what? You should let me take you to dinner sometime.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” 

Marco’s smile faltered. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize or retract the offer, but Jean kept talking.

“I mean, just think about it,” he said. “We’ll probably get in some catastrophic accident and end up right back here in the hospital. That seems to be our pattern.”

Marco’s grin reemerged, brighter than ever. 

“If that happens,” he said, “then we’ll get some green Jell-o from the cafeteria and call it a day.”

“Change that to orange Jell-o and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Jean’s grin pulled painfully at his split lip, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Dinner sounds good,” he said. “Any day you want.”

He wasn’t going to question why Marco hadn’t accepted the offer when Jean had been the one to extend it. He wasn’t going to question anything as long as Marco was looking at him with that face, with that smile. 

“I don’t have to work on Tuesday,” said Marco.

“Yeah, neither do I.” Jean only realized how bitter that sounded after the words had already spilled out of his mouth. He covered it up with a grin and added, “Tuesday it is.”


	19. Chapter 19

When Jean was released the next morning after a few fitful, unsatisfying hours of sleep, he drove straight to Jaeger’s house. Levi had advised him to call Eren, but Jean felt that wasn’t good enough. It was his fault that they were in this mess to begin with. He could at least pretend to be a good friend and check on Jaeger in person.

He parked beside of the truck in the driveway, the Chevrolet completely dwarfing the Mustang. Jean started toward the townhouse but stopped on the first step when the front door swung open. 

Eren pulled the door shut behind him with too much force. He turned to stomp toward the driveway and faltered when he saw Jean. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Checking to see if Levi murdered you last night. Guess he didn’t.”

“It would’ve been less painful,” said Eren, frowning at the concrete beneath his feet. “You okay?”

“They wouldn’t have released me if I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but you’d sneak out if you got the chance, whether they discharged you or not.”

“I was discharged. I have the paperwork in the car.”

Eren made a sound in his throat, eyes lifting to follow a dark blue van as it drove slowly past the townhouse. 

“Where are you going, anyway? It’s…” Jean checked the time on his phone. His eyebrows lifted; it was earlier than he’d thought. “Seven o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m going to the PD,” said Eren. “To talk to Chief.”

He looked like he’d just stated he was going to the gallows. In this situation, Eren probably viewed the two things as synonymous. 

“Dressed like that?” said Jean, the question coming a little more sharply than he’d planned.

“No reason to get dressed up when I’m just going to get fired anyway.”

“They’re not going to fire you, dumbass. Now go inside and put on some damn five-elevens. You look like shit.”

Eren huffed but he turned around and reentered the townhouse. He left the door standing open and Jean interpreted that as an invitation. He stepped inside, nudged the door shut with his shoe, and followed the sound of Jaeger’s griping.

The townhouse was not what Jean had expected. He’d always pictured Eren’s place to be a descent into unorganized chaos, with heaps of clothes and a sink full of dirty dishes and a thick layer of dog hair on every surface. 

Instead the interior was nearly spotless. There were clear indicators that it was lived-in, like the stack of mail on the kitchen counter and the laptop cord coiled in the middle of the living room floor like a lazy serpent. Aside from that everything was neat, arranged.

A clicking sound approached from an open doorway. A gray dog crept into the room, its nails tapping against the hardwood floor. It stared at Jean for a long moment, beady eyes analyzing. Then it crossed the room and nudged his thigh with its blocky head and Jean found himself scratching behind its pointed ears despite his disdain for canines in general. 

Eren peered out of the doorway, wearing only a pair of khaki cargo pants. “What are you doing?”

“Petting this ugly ass dog, what’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Be nice to Diesel. I’ll tell him to bite you.”

The dog’s name was Diesel. Jean was unsurprised.

“What’s wrong with its tail?” he said, eyeing the stub that had started to twitch back and forth.

“Some asshole cut it off I guess,” said Eren. “He’s a rescue. They found him in one of those dog fighting rings.”

“Oh,” said Jean. He looked down at the dog. It grinned up at him, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. “That sucks.”

“What I _meant_ ,” said Eren, “is what are you doing here? I told you I’m leaving. Go home and get some rest. I know they didn’t let you sleep at the hospital.”

“I’m going with you,” said Jean. “To talk to Chief. He needs to know it was my fault, too. You’re not taking the fall for it.”

“You are fucking not.”

“I’d like to see you stop me.”

Diesel pushed insistently against Jean’s leg. He started scratching again.

“Kirschtein, you’re already in a shitstorm of trouble.”

“Exactly. I’m already fucked, so this will hurt me less than it’ll hurt you.”

“I already told Captain Levi it was my fault-”

“-and then I told him it was mine,” said Jean. “Just let me take this one, Jaeger. I’m not losing anything and Shift 4 can’t afford to have another officer down.”

They glared at one another for a long moment. The only sound was Diesel’s snuffling as he sniffed at Jean’s shoes.

“We’ll tell him it was both of us,” Eren finally said. “We’ll take joint responsibility. They’re not going to pink slip both of us. Probably.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll let you borrow some clothes,” said Eren, sliding back into his room. “You look worse than me.”

Jean almost argued on instinct, but managed to hold it back. If he was being honest, he really did look like shit.

He followed Jaeger, the dog trailing calmly along after him. 

The bedroom was just as well kept as the rest of the house. The bed was neatly made, sheets tucked tightly and pillows stacked in a flawless arrangement. 

Jean’s hadn’t made his bed in a month.

A pair of pants slapped him in the face while he was gawking. 

“Those should fit,” said Eren, digging around in his closet. “Wear this, too.” He tossed a blue button up in Jean’s general direction. The shirt landed on Diesel, draping across his shoulders like a cape. “You need dark colors with your pasty ass skin tone.”

“Fuck you, too.”

He plucked the shirt off of Diesel, who seemed unbothered by the entire situation. The dog simply walked away and curled up onto a large square pillow in the corner, watching them with mild interest.

The two of them changed clothes, Jean feeling more than a little awkward dressing in Eren’s things. The shirt fit quite well, but the pants were slightly uncomfortable. They were a little too tight around his calves and a little too loose everywhere else, but they didn’t look terrible. He slipped back into his own dirty boots, aware without even trying that Eren’s shoes wouldn’t fit. He wanted to take the bandage off of his head but he knew there was dried blood in his hair and he didn’t want to use Eren’s shower. It was probably as pristine as the rest of the townhouse and it would only make him feel worse about the filth he was currently living in.

“Ready to go?” said Eren, slipping his belt through the last of the loops on his pants.

“Wear your gun,” snapped Jean. “Don’t be a damn civilian.”

Eren considered that for a moment but didn’t argue. He retrieved his holster, loosened his belt, and attached his gun to his hip. A minute later he’d clipped his badge next to the Glock and the two of them were out the door, Jean carrying his dirty clothes in a wad under his arm.

They drove separately but parked next to each other once they’d reached the PD, claiming the two parallel spaces closest to the front door. Jaeger was clearly on edge, but Jean was surprisingly calm. This wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him lately. Besides, he was fairly confident that Levi would take care of it. The man was vulgar and abrasive and often a shade too aggressive, but he was a good Captain. 

Christa and Sasha watched them with badly concealed curiosity as they entered and headed for the stairs.

Chief Smith was waiting. If he was surprised by Jean’s presence he didn’t show it.

“Eren, Jean. Please, sit down.”

They did as instructed. Jean didn’t realize until he was settled into a chair that Levi was there also, leaning against the side of the Chief’s bookshelf. He moved when they entered and closed the office door. That wasn’t a good sign. Jean didn’t think he’d ever been shut inside the Chief’s office. Not even when he’d killed someone.

“Levi has already given me a general idea of what happened,” said Erwin. He propped his elbows on his desk, viewing the two of them over steepled fingers. “I’d like to hear your version.”

Jean and Eren exchanged a glance. Jaeger looked like he was about to panic, so Jean started talking first.

It took a while. Jean went through the events of the night before, incriminating himself more than Eren when possible, being corrected by Jaeger when he did so. Erwin didn’t comment, nor did Levi. They waited until Jean had finished completely before speaking.

“I assume I don’t need to explain to you how serious this is,” said Erwin, speaking into the suffocating silence that followed the retelling. 

“No, sir,” they said in unison. Under his breath Eren added, “Sorry, sir.”

Erwin sighed and sat back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. He looked to Levi who still leaned against the bookshelf, narrowed eyes fixed on Jean and Eren.

“What do you think, Captain?” 

“I think they’re both fucking morons.”

“Levi.”

“When we searched the bar we found a shit ton of pills, all wrapped up for resale. There was cocaine too, probably a pound altogether. That’s more than enough evidence to put those two bastards in jail, not even considering they attacked you.” Levi paused, his scowl deepening. “We’re just going to slap them with the drugs and not bother with the assault charges so we can keep you out of it, Kirschtein. They’ll probably plea out like most everybody else, but if this shit goes to trial all this will leak out to the press. Even if we have to go to trial, it’ll probably be a year before that even happens. Your mess will be wrapped up by then, Kirschtein, so even if we have to drag you into this it won’t affect your current problem.”

Jean wasn’t as relieved as he should have been. He was planning to get fired soon anyway. A few weeks wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Yes, sir.”

“As for you, Jaeger,” said Levi, the edge in his voice making Eren wince. “You know better. You don’t take someone into an undercover op who can’t even carry a damn gun. Were you trying to get him killed?”

“No, sir,” said Eren, his voice barely above a whisper. His head was lowered, stare falling somewhere between his feet.

“I hope you’re not expecting to work with Vice again,” said Levi. “I told Hannes to call someone else next time. Obviously you’re not ready to handle anything outside your patrol duties. I thought you were a better officer than this, Jaeger. I’m disappointed.”

Those last two words hit Eren harder than anything else Levi had said. He slumped, head hanging even lower. Jean saw his jaw tighten and thought it was from anger, but when Eren spoke his voice cracked and Jean realized he was trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Sorry doesn’t do shit,” said Levi. “Get out of here, both of you.”

They stood, Eren still watching the floor. Before they reached the door Erwin said, “Actually, Jean, Hanji wanted a word with you. She should be in her office. Also, could you tell Armin I need to speak with him?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jean, suppressing the wince that pulled at his features at the mention of Armin’s name. 

He led the way out of the office, Eren trailing sadly at his heels. They paused in the hallway a short distance from Erwin’s office, Jean watching Eren from the corner of his eye. “You alright, Jaeger?”

“Yeah.”

“You going home now?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Jaeger, snap out of it,” said Jean, jabbing an elbow into Eren’s arm. “We didn’t get fired. We didn’t even get written up. That’s the best-case scenario.”

Eren’s voice was flat, inflectionless. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jean wanted to nag at Eren until he stopped moping, but just couldn’t do it. When he’d been in a similar state, Jaeger had his back. He still did, for whatever reason. “Well if you’re not just call me or something, alright?” said Jean. “We can hang out or go get wasted or something.”

“Okay.”

Jean was about to give up and abandon him to go to find Hanji but then Levi emerged from Erwin’s office, stalking toward them like a predator. Levi gripped Eren’s arm, hard, and hissed into his ear.

“You know the rules, Jaeger,” he said, loudly enough for Jean to overhear. “Relationships between officers on the same shift aren’t allowed. So next time you want to fuck one of your shift-mates at least be discreet.”

Eren pulled away from him, turning with a look of complete confusion. “What? I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t-”

“He’s wearing your clothes, idiot,” said Levi, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel. “Either stop or request a transfer. I’m not putting up with this shit on my shift.”

He shoved Jaeger out of the way and stormed toward the stairs. 

Eren stared after him, openmouthed, looking even more crushed than he had a few minutes prior.

“No, wait!” he said, hurrying after him. “Captain! That’s not what happened, hang on! Levi!”

Jean watched him take the stairs at a run. He stared after them for a moment, baffled. Then he decided to push it aside and started walking toward investigations. He wasn’t particularly worried about Levi. Eren would convince the Captain that they weren’t fucking around, because they weren’t. The one-time blowjob and the awkward sexual proposition didn’t count.

Then he remembered that Armin had walked in on that at the most inopportune time. 

He really did not want to see Armin.

Despite his reluctance, he stepped through the doorway to the investigations division. It was like crossing the threshold between earth and hell.

The secretary was a woman in her forties. During her time in investigations, she had perfected an expression of utter apathy. She barely glanced at Jean when he entered, returning to her magazine with obvious dismissal.

Jean ignored her and kept walking, sidling around the corner and peeking into the first office. Armin was seated at his desk, typing rapidly with a phone balanced on his shoulder.

“Yes, sir, I understand that,” he said. He appeared calm except for the pair of wrinkles between his eyebrows. Jean had learned that those subtle wrinkles belied complete frustration. “That isn’t the point, sir. When we checked into your claim we found no evidence to support the alleged crime. We can’t arrest them for something we have no proof of. It’s not legal. What we can do, however, is arrest you for filing a false report, which is what it appears that you did. If you continue to call me about this I’ll write up a warrant for you instead. Do you understand _that_?”

Apparently the man did. Armin hung up the phone and continued typing. Jean stood outside the doorway longer than was necessary, trying to bolster himself into stepping forward and alerting Armin to his presence.

“You can come in, Jean.”

He blinked and looked up to find Armin’s icy stare on him. 

“Right,” he said, taking the smallest step possible inside the office. “I was just… I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. What is it?”

Jean opened his mouth to relay Erwin’s message. Instead what he said was, “You know Eren and I didn’t sleep together, right?”

Armin’s hands paused, hovering over his keyboard. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do anymore, Jean.”

Jean pretended that didn’t hurt. “I know, but we didn’t. I just want you to know that. I was having a hard time and he was just trying to help. Not sexually, just… you know.”

Armin dropped his hands and swiveled toward Jean. His face was calm but guarded. “You didn’t come here just for that.”

“No. Chief wants to talk to you in his office.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Jean nodded and took a step back into the hallway. 

He wanted to say something else. Armin didn’t believe him. That much was obvious. He didn’t know what else to say to convince him. It didn’t matter, anyway. He and Armin would never have a relationship again, not after what Jean had done. He shouldn’t be so concerned.

He spared a last look for his ex, who had returned to typing, before turning away and continuing down the hall toward Major Zoe’s office.

He’d been there a couple of times before, never willingly, and knew before he stepped up to the door what he would find inside.

The office was a complete disaster. The shelves along the walls were crammed so full of books that they could have avalanched at any moment. The desk was piled high with papers and folders and bagged evidence. Hanji was nowhere in sight, and Jean hoped that he’d somehow missed her. He tapped lightly on the doorframe, just so he could honestly say he’d tried. Before he could turn and slip away a singsong voice answered, “Hellooo?”

Jean swept the room again. He saw no one.

“Uh, Major? It’s me, Kirschtein. Chief said you wanted to see me?”

Hanji popped out of nowhere. 

Jean gripped the edge of the door to keep himself from startling.

“Come on in, have a seat!” said Hanji, motioning toward the two overladen chairs in front of her desk with a sweeping gesture. “I need to talk to you for a quick minute. Moblit, where’d you put that thing?”

“Which thing, Major?” Investigator Berner emerged from the depths of Hanji’s disaster, looking as exhausted as ever. He didn’t spare a glance for Jean, which was preferred. Jean wanted as little contact with the investigators as possible.

“The thing for Jean. The problem thing.”

“It’s on your desk.”

“Right.” Hanji swooped over and started shuffling through the piles of disarray that consumed her desk. Jean stood close to the chairs, unable to actually sit for fear of dislodging the cluster of objects piled in each one. 

Idly, Jean wondered if Captain Levi had ever seen Hanji’s office. He would probably have an aneurism.

“Here!” she announced, retrieving a small black item from the mess. Jean recognized it instantly as his Bodycam, the only thing that might prove him innocent. He was thrilled that Hanji was being so careful with it. “I wanted to talk to you about this. Have you ever had any problems like this with it? Where information has gotten wiped clean or there have been malfunctions with its memory?”

“No, it’s always worked fine.”

“Hmm.” Hanji adjusted her glasses and studied it more closely, as if that may reveal some answers. “When was the last time you synced it with the database?”

“I don’t know,” said Jean, “the week before the shooting probably. I try to do it at the end of every rotation, every month or so.”

“And it’s always had all your data.”

“Yeah.”

“Audio and video.”

“Yeah.”

“Never had any glitches or lapses or anything like that?”

“No, never.”

Hanji blew out a sigh and tossed the Bodycam back into the clutter. Jean feared it was gone forever. “Okay then. You can go.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. If this hasn’t happened before then there’s no way you can help now. Moblit, go pull the files from the Ollis case. We have a witness coming in this afternoon. Ask Springer if he’ll be free. I think he’s on shift today.”

“Yes, Major.”

Moblit slunk out of the room, giving Jean a quick side-eye before exiting.

Jean ignored him, still focused on Hanji’s apparent lack of concern.

“So what are you going to do then?” said Jean. “Are you saying the video is gone?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But is it?”

“Not necessarily,” said Hanji, looking down at the Bodycam again. “It’s probably buried in there somewhere. It’s just a matter of digging it out.”

“I’m running out of time,” said Jean, the words more desperate than he’d intended. “If we don’t have that when I go to trial-”

“Then you’ll get on the stand and testify and everything will be fine!” said Hanji, the optimism in her voice a little too bright. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have it by then. It’s a simple solution. I just have to figure it out.”

“But what if you don’t? If all they have is my word then I’m going to lose. They won’t believe me, Major. I’ll get fired and convicted and probably end up in prison.”

Hanji sighed, the breath ruffling the loose strand of hair that had fallen out of her sloppy updo. She approached Jean, pushed her glasses up to perch on the crown of her head, and dropped her hands onto his shoulders. Their height was almost even, gazes level. 

“It was the truth, right?” asked Hanji. Her voice was low, calm; the opposite of her usual demeanor. “Everything you told me after the shooting, when you explained what happened. You were being one-hundred percent honest.”

“Of course.” A pit opened in Jean’s stomach, gnashing at his insides. He didn’t like the serious side of Hanji. “I told you everything.”

“Because if you didn’t,” said Hanji, “now’s the time to fix it. I won’t think any less of you, no one will. Everyone makes mistakes. If it didn’t happen exactly the way you said then you need to tell me.”

“Major, I-”

“Some people,” said Hanji, cutting him short, “have pointed out that I didn’t get the Bodycam from you until a couple of days after it happened. That’s plenty of time for you to wipe it clean if there’s something you didn’t want anyone to see.”

Jean swallowed, hard. He felt on the verge of panic but he managed to hold it down, trapping the feeling in his chest before it could grow. “I didn’t tamper with it.”

“Look at me, Jean.”

He realized he’d dropped his gaze. He pulled it back up, finding the Major’s wide, wild eyes. 

“You’re a good officer,” said Hanji, “and I trust you. Whatever you tell me right now is what I’m going to believe. So please tell me the truth.”

Jean sucked in a deep breath that shuddered slightly. He shook his head a little, not breaking Hanji’s gaze. “Everything I said was the truth. I fired a shot because I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t tamper with the evidence. I swear.”

Hanji’s stare lingered on him for a long moment, searching. Then she released him and took a step back, reaching up to readjust her glasses in front of her eyes. 

“Okay then!” she said, clapping her hands together loudly. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I have friends who are into techie stuff like this. They should be able to dig that information out no problem.”

Jean sagged slightly beneath his own relief. “Thanks, Major.”

“Don’t thank me until the trial is over. Now go on about your business, leave this to me.”

He did as instructed, slouching out of the office without argument. He was pleased to have escaped, but the gnawing unease in his stomach hadn’t abated. 

_Some people_ , Hanji had said. _Some people_ in the department thought Jean had erased the evidence. _Some people_ that he’d worked with for years thought he was a liar and a killer. 

Armin was rounding the corner as Jean left Investigations. Both of them stopped before colliding, Armin blinking at Jean with surprise and, beneath that, something that may have been concern.

“Jean?” he said cautiously. “Are you alright? You look-”

“I’m fine,” said Jean, the words flat. He sidestepped Armin and kept walking, tossing over his shoulder, “ _Some people_ shouldn’t pretend to care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next week: The dinner date that you've only had to wait twenty chapters for.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a judgmental idiot. Be patient with him. He's learning.

Jean felt like piling up in his bed and dissolving back into his state of worthless immobility. It was the easiest thing to do, especially with all of the new information that weighed him down. He knew he couldn’t do it this time, though. Eren was still a mess, even after Levi had let them off the hook. Since it was Jean’s fault, he felt responsible for keeping Eren out of his own pit of despair.

Besides that, Jean had dinner plans.

“Got you some food,” said Jean. He kicked his shoes off on the mat and advanced into the condo on socked feet. Diesel trotted up to him, burying his nose in Jean’s thigh until he freed up a hand to pet him. 

“Why?” said Eren. He was on his couch, feet propped on the coffee table, entombed beneath a sunshine yellow quilt. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and Jean figured he probably hadn’t.

When Jean was upset he coped by sleeping until his problems disappeared.

Jaeger was the opposite.

“Because you’ve been holed up in here since Saturday. There’s probably no food left and Captain would be pissed if you starved to death.” He dropped the bag on the table beside Eren’s feet. Diesel stared at the food with intense interest but made no move to snatch it. “I got a couple extra burgers for the dog. In case you’ve been too worried about your own dumb problems to feed him.”

“Of course I’ve been feeding him,” said Eren, his glare ringed by the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Get out of my fucking house, Kirschtein.”

“Get up and throw me out.” He dropped onto the end of the couch beside Eren’s blanket bundle. “If your muscles haven’t atrophied.”

“Fuck you. You’re one to talk, asshole. I had to drag you out of bed like a week ago. You were practically decaying.”

“And now you’re doing the same damn thing.”

“I am not. I just want some time to myself, which is clearly too much to ask for.”

“Mikasa said you wouldn’t even answer the door when she came by earlier.”

“I didn’t answer it for you either, dickwad.”

“It was unlocked, assface.”

“Then lock it behind you when you leave.”

Jean scoffed and settled back into the couch. The dog inched closer, resting its head on his knee. Jean scratched absently behind its ears and spent a few minutes trying to figure out what Eren was watching on the flat screen. It looked like a documentary about amoebas.

“So you go back on shift tomorrow,” said Jean. 

“Nope,” said Eren. “I’m calling in. I have a lot of sick time.”

“You’ve never called in a day in your life.”

“Which is why I have a lot of sick time.”

“Don’t be such a little bitch,” said Jean. “Captain isn’t mad anymore. Unlike you, he knows when to let something go.”

“Of course he’s mad,” said Eren, scowling. “He _should_ be mad. I fucked up.”

“So you think skipping out on shifts is going to fix anything? That’s just going to piss him off more, you idiot.”

“I’ll go back the next day. I just can’t tomorrow.”

“Why is this bothering you so much? It’s over, we didn’t get in trouble.”

“It doesn’t matter!” said Eren, fidgeting restlessly beneath his quilt. “Chief still knows we fucked up. Captain still knows. And he thinks we’re having some secret affair, which is fucking ridiculous. I just don’t want to go back yet.”

There were a number of insults vying for Jean’s approval. He bit his tongue and leaned forward to dig around in the bag of food, plucking out one of the plain burgers. He unwrapped it and offered it to Diesel, who politely accepted the gift and absconded to another room.

“You know," said Jean, "If Levi is up your ass about something it means he’s concerned. He's not mad at you, idiot. He just wants to make sure no one has a reason to get suspicious because he doesn’t want us to get in trouble. He said something because he’s looking out for us, Jaeger. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, you included, but he’s looking out for us. He likes us. Especially you. If you don’t think you’re the shift pet then you’re a blind fucking idiot. So suck it the fuck up, iron your uniform, and be ready to report in the morning. If that’s not enough motivation, just think about how disappointed he’d be in you if you didn’t show up.”

Jean stood and sidestepped the coffee table, heading back to the front door. As he knelt to put his shoes back on Eren said, “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I just got that for you,” said Jean. He tried to cram his foot back into his boot but it wouldn’t fit. With a sigh he tugged at the knot and started unlacing them. “I have somewhere to be.”

“You never go anywhere,” said Eren. 

“I have a date.”

Eren snorted. It was almost worth being made fun of to see the lopsided smile on his face. “What idiot would actually go out with you? Are you sure it’s a date?”

That made Jean pause. They’d agreed to go to dinner. The context had never been specified. Jean had assumed it was a date, but maybe Marco was just being nice. Maybe it was just a friendly outing.

Maybe Marco wasn’t even gay.

That wasn’t entirely unlikely. Jean’s gay-dar wasn’t always reliable, probably because he’d stifled every feeling that was even remotely homosexual for the first twenty years of his life. 

“Oh shit,” said Eren, sitting a little straighter. The quilt dropped off of his shoulders. He was wearing a sweater underneath and Jean distantly wondered how he hadn’t died of heat stroke. “You’re not sure. Is it a guy or a girl?”

“A guy.”

“Does he know you’re into dudes or does he think you’re just going to hang out?”

Jean leaned against the door for stability as he pulled his shoe on, tightening the laces with a little too much force. “Just go back to your moping, Jaeger.”

“He doesn’t know. Is he even gay or are you going out with a straight guy? Because sure, you could maybe turn him, but it’s not very likely.”

“Of course he’s gay,” snapped Jean. He tied off his left boot and moved onto the right. “I mean, I think he is. I get the feeling that he is.”

Eren grinned. It was nice to see him slowly crawling out of his own misery, but Jean wasn’t sure if it was worth the cost of his own embarrassment.

“You’re going out to seduce a straight guy. That’s fucking amazing. Which restaurant are you going to? I’m getting a table close to yours so I can watch.”

“No, you are fucking not. Fuck off.”

“Who is it?” said Eren. “Maybe I know him. Or his wife.”

“He doesn’t have a wife!” said Jean. That was probably true. He hadn’t noticed a wedding ring, but then again he hadn’t really looked, either.

“Who is it?”

“I’m not telling you, asshole. Not when you’re acting like this.”

“Who is it?”

“I just said I’m not-”

“Who is it?”

Jean ground his teeth together. He didn’t want Eren to know, but at the same time it might be better if he did. After all, Eren worked closely with the paramedics, too. Maybe he knew more about Marco than Jean did.

“You can’t say anything,” said Jean. “To anyone. You have to promise.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Eren, eyes bright. “I promise.”

Jean wavered. This felt like a bad idea. “One of the new paramedics.”

Eren was so close to the edge of the couch that Jean expected him to fall off. “Which one?”

“Marco Bodt.”

“Marco?” repeated Eren, eyebrows shooting up. “The Marco with the freckles and the quiet intensity? That Marco?”

“Yeah, that Marco.”

Eren’s mouth flattened into a thin line, his head tilting as he eyed Jean. “Dude, Marco’s straight as a fucking arrow. If he thought this was supposed to be a date he’d never have agreed to it.”

Jean felt the heat of embarrassment already beginning to warm his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his cheek with a palm, trying to scrub away the flush. “Of fucking course. Goddammit. I don’t even have his damn phone number to call and cancel.”

At least he knew beforehand. There had been a similar incident a couple of years ago that he’d gone into blind. That hadn’t turned out so well.

At least now he wouldn’t be expecting anything.

A snort from across the room made Jean peel away from his self-induced pity party and crack his eyes open. Eren collapsed sideways onto the couch, dissolving into a fit of laughter that clashed with the dismal mood that had wrapped him more tightly than the quilt. Diesel tilted his large head up at Eren, confused by the commotion.

It took a moment for Jean to realize what Eren found so hilarious. 

“You son of a bitch,” he said, brows furrowing into a scowl.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Eren said through a grin. 

“Do you even know Marco or did you make that up, too?”

“I know him,” said Eren. He sat up, smile still splitting his face. It was a massive improvement from his prior mood, but Jean couldn’t get past his own bitterness to properly appreciate the change. “Nice guy. He’s gayer than a sky full of rainbows.”

“Are you just saying that to fuck with me?”

“No, dude, seriously. Marco’s gay. One-hundred-percent without-a-doubt gay.”

Jean’s tension eased, but the urge to punch Jaeger in the face did not.

“Fuck you, Jaeger.”

He swung the door open and stormed out, ignoring the sounds of Eren’s laughter that followed him. At the last second he remembered to lock the door before slamming it shut and stomping off to his car. 

As soon as he was behind the wheel he stopped to take a breath. He knew better than to drive while he was irritated. That opened the door to road rage incidents, and Jean had experienced his fair share of those before he’d become an officer. He couldn’t afford to make stupid mistakes anymore, especially not now that his career was already in a precarious position.

He wasn’t as angry as he’d thought. His relief that Eren was no longer wallowing was stronger than his annoyance at Jaeger’s stupid antics. Only a minute passed before he was backing out of the driveway and onto the street, steering himself toward the South side of town. Marco had given him an address, written on a scrap of paper in a sloppy script. He’d also offered directions but Jean had turned them down. He knew where the street was. He was a cop, after all. He knew where every street was.

He found the road with no problems and cruised by slowly, checking house numbers as he drove. The first one he saw was 206. He went three blocks before he started eyeing numbers again, searching for the 515 that Marco had indicated.

It turned out to be a stack of apartments structured similarly to the ones in which Jean resided. The difference was the level of upkeep, and Jean knew he would die before he lived in these apartments. They looked like the ones that got twenty calls per week for domestic disputes, the ones that had cockroaches scuttling across the walls, the ones that had children crying in the corner, faces streaked with dirt and tears.

Those were the kinds of places that Jean thought should be burned to the ground.

Maybe he shouldn’t go out with Marco after all. He’d seemed decent, but if he was living _here_ …

Jean didn’t have the chance to finish the thought. Marco was skipping down the stairs on the side of the building, waving at Jean as he crossed the street. A moment later he climbed into the passenger seat with a relaxed smile. 

“I like your car,” he said, settling back into the leather seat. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” said Jean. “I just bought it.”

Marco didn’t _look_ like he should be living in the slums. He wore black slacks that looked nicer than any dress clothes than Jean owned, and his red shirt was pressed to perfection. His shoes were clean too, shining like Jean’s duty boots. 

And he smelled fantastic.

“What’s wrong?” said Marco, his smile faltering beneath Jean’s scrutiny.

“Nothing,” said Jean, quickly looking away and clamping his hands on the wheel. “Where are we going?”

“I made reservations at this place on Main Street,” said Marco. He smoothed his hair down absently as Jean started driving. “Hopefully you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I’m not picky.” The truthfulness of that statement was debatable, but Marco seemed satisfied. Jean looked out the window as they drove away from the apartments, wondering why the hell someone like Marco was living in a place like that.

Small talk accompanied them on the drive, revolving around subjects that were safe and inconsequential. Marco didn’t ask about the PD and Jean was grateful. He didn’t want to start the night by being reminded of his problems.

When they neared Main Street Marco told Jean the name of the restaurant at which he’d reserved a table. Jean had heard of it but had never been. It was a little fancy for his taste, but if that’s the kind of thing that Marco liked he wasn’t going to complain. He slowed as they entered the lot, eyeing the rows of spaces.

“Just pull up to the door,” said Marco, pointing toward the front of the well-lit building. “They have valet service.”

“Valet service?” said Jean, the words forming strangely on his tongue. 

“Yeah, you know, they have people who take your car and-”

“I know what it is,” said Jean, cutting in before Marco assumed he was a complete idiot, “and I’m not using it. I don’t let people drive my car. I don’t know anything about them. They could steal it or wreck it or scratch the paint. I can park my own damn car.”

He felt Marco looking at him and wondered if he’d come off as a little rude.

“I’ll drop you off at the door, though,” he said, trying to smooth over the conversation.

“That’s okay,” said Marco. He didn’t sound bothered but it was hard to tell. “I’ll just walk with you.”

Jean found a spot at the edge of the lot where cars were sparse. He wanted to park on the line between two spots to make sure no one got too close to the Mustang but didn’t want to look like an asshole in front of Marco. 

A strip of perfect landscaping separated them from the bordering parking lot of another, less sophisticated restaurant. A cluster of men stood a short distance away, bonding over cigarettes, looking a little too intently at Jean as he stepped out of the car. 

His first instinct was to tell them to fuck off, but he swallowed the words and settled for a warning glare instead, pressing the lock button on his keys several times as he and Marco walked to the entrance of the restaurant. At least a place like this would have good security cameras in the parking lot.

It wasn’t what he’d expected, and it definitely didn’t coincide with what little he knew about Marco. The presence of a valet service should have been the first indicator. Inside there were waiters dressed in three-piece suits and chandeliers and more wine than Jean had ever seen in his life.

He stood awkwardly beside Marco as their reservation was confirmed, trying to look at ease. He put his hands in his pockets and immediately pulled them out again, flexing his fingers at his sides and pretending that everyone within eyeshot wasn’t staring at them.

The stares didn’t bother him as much as they once would have. Since he’d come to terms with his sexuality, a craggy road that was more painful than he’d like to admit, he’d accepted that people were always going to stare whenever he was out with a guy. That hardly even bothered him anymore. His anxiety at that moment stemmed solely from the knowledge that he had not dressed nicely enough for a place like that.

He glanced at Marco as they followed the hostess through a row of tables. He appeared unconcerned. 

Jean couldn’t reconcile how Marco could live in a shithole and still be comfortable in a fancy ass restaurant like this. It wasn’t logical.

When they were seated Jean went straight for the menu, curling his fingers around the edges and staring blankly at the food options. The letters made sense, but not in the order they were printed. He flipped it over and looked at the other side, thinking that maybe it was rewritten in English. It was just more gibberish. 

He peered over the edge at Marco, who was already looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” said Jean, dropping his gaze. “What are you going to order?”

“I don’t know,” said Marco, perusing his own menu. “Any recommendations?”

“Uh…”

“Good evening, gentlemen.” A waiter swooped over to their table. If he felt any disdain for the two of them he hid it behind a flawless mask of politeness. “Can I get you some wine?”

Jean looked at Marco, who looked just as uncertain as he felt.

“Can we have a minute?” said Jean. He tried to smile but it felt like more of a grimace.

“Of course, sir. I’ll check back shortly.”

When he was gone Jean turned back to Marco. “Maybe I’m wrong, but you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’s into this kind of thing,” he said, flicking a hand toward the crystal wineglasses in the center of the table. 

“Not usually,” said Marco. “I’m okay with it, though, since this is what you like.”

Jean’s eyebrow rose. “Why do you think it’s what I like?”

“It’s French.”

“So?”

Marco blinked, forehead creasing. “You’re French.”

Jean almost started arguing with him. Then he remembered his own name. “Oh, yeah. I mean no, I’m really not. Well technically, kind of.” He shook his head and started over. “My grandpa was from France. My dad’s name is Jean so he passed it down to me. I’ve never been to France. Hell, I’ve never even left the country.”

“Oh,” said Marco. He averted his gaze, staring slightly off to the side. His cheeks started to darken, barely noticeable beneath the dusky skin and the spray of freckles. “I thought… So, uh, you can’t read this either?” he asked, holding up his menu.

“Not a single fucking word.”

A grin pulled at the corner of Marco’s mouth. 

“So that’s the reason you chose this place?” said Jean. 

“Well, yes,” said Marco. “At first I thought it was maybe a little too much. I talked to Hitch, though, and she said you're from France and you have a fancy taste, so I was trying to accommodate.”

Fucking Hitch. Jean hoped she never found out just how awkward this had been. She would be absolutely thrilled.

“Hitch is full of shit,” said Jean. “Don’t trust a word that comes out of her mouth.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Marco admitted with a wry smile.

Jean leaned back in his seat, some of his tension dissolving. “How about this? Let’s get the hell out of here and get a burger and actually learn something about each other.”

Marco discarded his menu on the table without hesitation. “Okay, let’s go.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually posted this on the correct day this week!
> 
> I wanted to deliver this suffering promptly.

Once they were at a much more casual restaurant eating burgers with ingredients that they could pronounce, the date went surprisingly well. After the fancy French restaurant incident, Jean no longer had any doubts that it was, indeed, a date. Normally that would have put him on edge even more, but it was difficult to feel anxious with Marco.

Marco was a nice guy. Like, really nice. So nice that Jean would’ve thought it was an act had Marco not been such a fiercely genuine person. He didn’t doubt a single word that came out of Marco’s mouth, and that was a feat in itself. He’d had years of police work to teach him that it was best to assume that everything he was told was a lie, but he found himself unable to enforce that paradigm with Marco.

And the man could throw back a double bacon cheeseburger like it was his job. Jean respected the hell out of that.

He rolled up in front of Marco’s apartment much sooner than he would have liked. Given the choice, Jean would’ve made a bee line for his own residence, Marco in tow. He felt that was a little forward for a first date, though, and he definitely did not want to fuck things up before they even got started. Jean wasn’t good at dating. It was surprising that he and Armin had lasted so long. 

“Thanks again,” said Marco. “You really didn’t have to buy my food. I was planning to pay for yours.”

Jean shrugged off the gratitude. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I’ll pay next time and we’ll be even,” said Marco. He hesitated. “I mean, if you want to go out again.”

“Of course I do,” said Jean. “That would be great.”

Marco smiled and Jean mirrored the expression.

“Oh, hey, could I get your number?” he said. “I know I gave you mine a while back when you got knifed, but I never got yours.”

“Sure,” said Marco. He took the offered cell phone and tapped his number onto the screen. “Actually I don’t know yours, either. I know you gave it to me, but Mina… well, nevermind. Could you just text me so I’ll have yours?”

Jean didn’t know what Mina had done, but he had a feeling it was something extremely irritating. “Definitely,” he said, taking his phone back. “Thanks.”

“I’ll talk to you soon then?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Marco smiled. Jean wanted to reach out, to kiss him or touch him or do _something_ , but he was already out of the car. The door slammed and Marco was crossing in front of him, the twin headlight beams casting a slanted silhouette as he shuffled across the street. Jean waited until Marco jogged up the stairs and disappeared into the building before he pulled away. That seemed like the sort of place that you might get shot in your own front yard. Jean didn’t have a gun, but he was decent at hand-to-hand combat. If he hadn’t been on a shift with Eren and Mikasa, who were eerily good at fistfights, he would have considered himself especially skilled.

A few minutes later, while he idled at a red light, his phone lit up with a text. At first he hoped it was Marco, then remembered he hadn’t even shared his number yet. He swiped across the screen and rolled his eyes when he saw the message was from Jaeger.

_hows the date goin?? you gonna get any???_

Jean tossed the phone into the passenger seat without responding.

He almost made it home without incident. About a block separated him from his apartment when he caught a flash of movement in the street in front of him and he hit the brakes, hard. His tires screeched and he winced, more from the loss of tread than from the sound. A pair of men had come to a stunned stop in the road, wide eyes staring into the headlights like startled deer. Two other men waited on the sidewalk, safely out of the crosswalk. 

Jean inhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. His alarm quickly morphed into anger as the men continued to stand dumbly in the middle of the road. 

Jean slammed a palm into the steering wheel, the blare of the horn echoing off of the close buildings on each side of the street. 

“Get out of the street, fucking idiots,” he snapped, scowling as the men finally crossed the remainder of the space to the sidewalk. “You’re going to get run the fuck over.”

He released the brake and crept forward, glaring at them out of his window as he cruised by. They returned the favor, their glowers even darker. The intensity made Jean accelerate a little more quickly, again all too aware that he was unarmed. Something about the men made him uneasy and he’d learned to trust his instincts.

He relaxed once they were no longer visible in his rearview mirror. A minute later he was home, parking in the spot he’d claimed as his own since he’d bought the Mustang. He took a moment to appreciate the car, the paint shining even in the dull light of the streetlamp. It had been a good decision, one that he owed Jaeger for.

The thought of Eren reminded him of the text he’d received and he pulled out his phone as he hit the button for the elevator.

_The date was fine. Shouldn’t you be working?_

He was answered almost instantly, before he’d even reached his floor.

_i am. guess thats a no_

Jean snorted and cranked his key in the lock, letting himself into his apartment. 

_Fuck off, Jaeger. Go do some police work._

His clothes were in a messy pile in his bedroom floor by the time Eren replied.

_tryin to avoid the pd. you wont believe what happened. ill tell you tomorrow_

That was just vague enough to pique Jean’s interest, but he didn’t bother trying to pry the information out of him. Instead he selected Marco’s newly entered contact information and spent too much time trying to decide what to say. In the end he settled for something simple.

_Hey, it’s Jean. I had a good time tonight. Talk to you soon._

Satisfied, he tossed his phone in the middle of his bed and headed to the bathroom. After his teeth were brushed he returned and plugged his phone up to charge, trying not to grin at the brief message he’d gotten in return.

_I had a great time, too! Looking forward to it_.

At least Marco used proper punctuation, unlike _some people._

Jean went to sleep easily, more content than he’d felt in a long time. Things were looking up for him. Maybe everything was going to work out after all.

He should’ve known better.

  
  


Jean didn’t know what time it was when he woke up. He was aware that it was still dark and that it was much too early for him to be conscious, but his bladder disagreed. With a muffled groan he crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes he’d left in the floor when he’d gotten home. He turned the bathroom light on, even though he felt as if it was burning out his retinas. He’d tried on several occasions to piss in the dark to spare his vision, but cleaning his own urine out of the floor the next morning wasn’t quite worth it. 

A minute later he flicked the light back off, grateful for the plunge into darkness. He staggered back across his bedroom, intent on collapsing back into bed, but something made him hesitate in the middle of the floor. It was a strange feeling, like eyes watching from the corner, or like cold breath on the back of his neck. He wasn’t unnerved enough to think someone was actually in his apartment, but he was uneasy all the same. 

He took a couple more steps and reached blindly for his phone, checking the screen to make sure he hadn’t received any unsettling messages. The only thing in his inbox was an email from his credit card company that included a link to his latest statement. 

Jean inched toward his bed, but changed his mind at the last second. Instead he shuffled carefully to the window, tugged at the blinds, and peered out into the parking lot. Because of the uncanny feeling creeping up his spine he half-expected to see someone down there, staring up at him. 

There was no one.

Still unsettled, he started to turn away, but then a twinkle of light on the pavement caught his attention. He pressed closer to the glass and his breath fogged the surface. He released the blinds and bent lower, beneath the patch of vapor, and looked again, this time holding his breath. 

It almost looked like something had been broken on the pavement, something that was reflecting the glow of the streetlamp. It was too far for him to tell for sure, though. It was probably just a broken beer bottle thrown by a stupid neighborhood kid. The apartment manager would have it cleaned up in the morning. 

There seemed to be a lot, though, more than he would expect from one broken bottle.

And it was perilously close to the Mustang.

Jean’s stomach dropped. He grabbed his phone automatically, almost yanking the charger out of the wall as he started across the room with it. He hopped into a pair of pants and grabbed the nearest jacket he could find, throwing it on as he rushed out of the room, suddenly wide awake.

He slid into his shoes before dashing out the door, barely remembering to pull it shut after him as he raced toward the elevator. 

Two minutes later he jogged through the parking lot toward his car. He came to an abrupt halt at the front bumper, all rational thought flatlining as he took in the damage. The reflected light on the pavement was from broken glass, but not bottles. It was the driver’s side windows of his Mustang, shattered both on the ground and inside the vehicle. A spiderweb of cracks crawled across the windshield but it hadn’t broken. The tires on that side of the car were deflated and Jean would have bet his career that they’d been slashed. That wasn’t the worst part, though. Jean could’ve lived with that sort of vandalism. The part that brought him to his knees, feeling as if he’d been physically crushed, was the word carved into the side of the car, the letters etched into the paint with jagged precision.

**KILLER**

He felt like his lungs had deflated. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The only thing that registered in his mind was a constant chorus of _why_? 

He lost some time, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. When he came back to himself he was curled up on the ground, his back against the front bumper of the Mustang, moisture clinging to his face that he didn’t want to think about. That was becoming a theme in his life. There were too many things that he didn’t want to think about.

He didn’t know what to do. Whoever had vandalized his car was long gone by then. He knew he should call the police anyway. He needed a report filed so his insurance would pay to have it fixed. That was the logical thing to do, but he just couldn’t dial the number. Fucking Hitch would probably answer and he wouldn’t tell her what had happened. He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. 

It was still dark outside now, but the sun would come up soon. He had to do something before then, before anyone saw.

He clutched his phone so tightly that it was a miracle the screen didn’t crack. After a moment of painful deliberation he dialed and held the phone against his face, smearing the tear track on his right cheek.

“Dude, please tell me you’re just getting home.” Eren sounded like he was grinning. “Did you guys go at it all night? How was it? Was he a good fuck? He looks like he’d be a good fuck.”

“Jaeger.” The single word cracked and Jean gritted his teeth, trying to pull himself together. “I need a favor.”

Eren’s crude playfulness vanished. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re on duty, right?”

“Yeah, for another half hour.”

“I need you to come over,” he said. “I’m in the parking lot. You’ll see me when you get here.”

“Is something happening? Do I need to call it in?”

“No, just… just come. Please.”

“Be there in five.”

The call was ended and Jean was grateful Eren hadn’t bombarded him with questions like dispatch would have. There was no need for him to go into detail. Jaeger would understand as soon as he got there.

It was closer to three minutes when the cruiser swung into the lot, the headlights briefly blinding Jean.

The door of the Charger was kicked open and Eren’s boots hit the pavement. Jean felt a hot wave of shame as Jaeger approached. He digested the scene, clearly troubled. “When?” said Eren, the single word sufficient.

“I got home at ten,” said Jean. “Sometime between then and now.”

“Fuck.” Eren took a step back, again scanning the damage, eyes lingering on the bold, brutal accusation chiseled into the paint. “How long have you been sitting out here?” Jean wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Judging from the stiffness of his muscles it had been at least twenty minutes. “I don’t know.”

“Son of bitch,” said Eren, hissing the profanity under his breath. “Stupid fucking morons. Goddammit.” He turned his back on Jean and paced closer to his cruiser, tilting his head to talk into his radio speaker. “Headquarters, 403.” As soon as he was acknowledged by dispatch Eren continued. “Put me ten-six, out at the three-hundred block of Locust. Report pending.”

“I don’t want anyone to know,” said Jean, all too aware of how hoarse his voice sounded. “You can’t tell them.”

“They’re going to know whether I tell them or not,” said Eren. He was agitated, but Jean knew he wasn’t the cause of Jaeger’s unease. “It’s going to be in the fucking report. Everyone sees the fucking reports.”

“Talk to Levi,” said Jean. “Have him mark it confidential so no one can access it.”

“That’s only for juvenile cases,” he said, “or sex crimes. For a vandalism he won’t-”

“Please,” said Jean, cutting him off before he could finish the denial. “Jaeger, please. No one can see this. It’s bad enough I’m being dragged through the court system. It’s bad enough I fucking killed someone. But this is just… please, Eren. You know this will make the news if it gets out. I can’t handle any more publicity.”

He could see that Eren was struggling with the request. At length he said, “I can ask Captain, but I don’t know if he’ll do it. I mean, he might, considering the circumstances, but I don’t know.”

That was as much Jean could hope for. “Right. Thanks.”

“Get up so I can take pictures.”

The last thing Jean wanted was for this incident to be made permanent by means of photography, but he knew it was necessary. He used the bumper of the car to pull himself up, his legs lurching awkwardly beneath him. He stumbled over to Eren’s cruiser and leaned against the door, trying to remain as impassive as possible as Eren snapped pictures of the damage. It wasn’t easy.

He’d nearly finished when another car pulled into the lot. Jean wondered which of his neighbors was about to bear witness to his shame, but it was worse than he could’ve guessed.

It was another police car.

It was _his_ police car.

A surge of nostalgia filled his chest at the sight, but it was drained away and replaced with pain when it was Armin who climbed out of the car.

He approached them carefully, wide eyes surveying the vandalized Mustang. He was dressed in full patrol gear. Jean hadn’t seen him wearing a uniform in over a year. It made him look smaller.

“What happened?” said Armin, the question directed toward Eren.

The question was innocent enough, but Jaeger reacted badly.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he said, turning on Armin with a scowl. He crammed his phone into his pocket, abandoning the photo shoot. 

Armin was taken aback by the venom in Eren’s voice, but he didn’t back down from the question. “You checked out as busy,” he said. “I came to see what was going on. If you needed help.”

“I don’t need help,” said Eren, “especially not from an investigator who doesn’t know a damn thing about working patrol.”

Armin winced a little and Jean expected him to slink back to the cruiser, to escape the situation. Instead he shook his head and said, “I worked patrol first. We were on the same shift, you know. We were _friends_ , whether you want to remember it or not.”

“Yeah, we _were_ ,” said Eren. “Now we’re not. I don’t need your help, Arlert. Go back to your own zone. If you can remember which fucking zone you’re supposed to be in.”

“I know the zones,” said Armin, “and this one isn’t yours.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” said Eren. “This isn’t investigations. We play by different rules here. Now go the fuck on and let me do my job.”

“Fine,” said Armin. He looked away from Eren but made no move to leave. “Jean?” he said, his voice a shade softer. “Are you okay?”

It was the same question, asked in the same tone, that he’d heard a hundred times. He’d asked after Jean had jumped off the porch and twisted his ankle. He’d asked when he’d found out Jean’s father was serving a life sentence in Florida. He’d asked when Jean had come home from the shooting.

“Yeah,” said Jean, giving the same damn answer he’d given every other time. “I’m fine.”

Armin nodded once, sliding a glare toward Eren before he started back toward the cruiser. _Jean’s cruiser._

As soon as he was gone Eren explained before Jean even had to ask.

“He’s been assigned to our shift temporarily,” said Eren, “to cover until you get cleared for duty again. It’s annoying as fuck.”

“Oh,” said Jean. It was amazing that he could be replaced so easily. He wasn’t even necessary. They could just hand his keys over to someone else and move on without him. “He’s shit at patrol, though,” said Eren. “We need you back, dude.”

It was a nice sentiment, but it didn’t fix anything. Jean still felt hollow, desolate, mostly numb. When he looked back at the Mustang another stab of shame made him wince. “Can you have dispatch send a towing company?” said Jean. “I need to get it out of here before anyone sees.”

“Yeah, got it.” 

He pressed the button on his radio and started talking. Jean didn’t bother listening. He trusted Eren as much as it was possible for him to trust anyone. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, but it was undeniable. Maybe it was because they’d bonded over being killers. 

Jean walked to his car, shoes crunching in the broken glass. He’d probably have to pull shards of his windows out of the rubber soles later, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. He leaned through the busted window and looked at the glass scattered across his leather seats, littering the floorboards.

The car had been a good thing. He should’ve expected that to be taken away from him.

“It’s on the way,” said Eren. “Should be here soon.”

Jean nodded. There was an anxious twist in his gut as he moved back to the cruiser where Eren stood.

“Is your shift over now?” he asked.

“Yeah, Shift 2 just went ten-eight,” said Eren. “I’ll wait for the tow truck to get here then I’m heading home. I’ll hold off on the report until tonight so I can talk to Levi about it.”

“Stay,” said Jean. It was a single word that could have been interpreted in a number of ways, but Eren knew exactly what he meant.

Jaeger blinked at him, mouth tilted downward. “You sure about that?” he said, his concern evident. 

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have asked.”

Eren was clearly uncertain, teetering between agreement and denial. “What about Marco?”

“It was one date,” said Jean. His voice was bland, impassive. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Eren hesitated for another long moment, uncertain. Finally he said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay.”


	22. Chapter 22

The tow truck arrived about fifteen minutes later. The driver made several cutting remarks about the extent of the damage, peppered with prying questions meant to get at the motive of the vandal. Eren deflected the man’s curiosity with curt responses and more profanity than was probably necessary and the Mustang was loaded up and carted off a few minutes later.

Eren cleared the vague service call and informed dispatch that he was officially off-duty. As soon as they confirmed the activity he turned off his radio and yanked out his earpiece, wincing as it scraped the inside of his ear. He looked at his cruiser and then at Jean, uncertainty touching his features.

“I guess I’ll just leave the Charger here?” he said, phrasing it like a question.

“It’s fine,” said Jean. “I don’t think anyone will bother it.”

“Not worried about that,” said Eren. “I just don’t want anyone to see it and think… you know.” 

“No one will be able to see it from the road,” said Jean. He scratched at the back of his head, where a scab was buried beneath a layer of hair. “Only the other people living in the apartments will notice and they’re so used to seeing a cop car out here they probably won’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Captain is probably falling into bed right now,” said Jean, guessing at the source of Eren’s hesitation. “He’s not going to know. If you don’t want to stay, though, you can-”

“Shut up, Kirschtein.”

Eren shouldered past him and started toward the building. The handcuffs dangling from the back of his belt clanged with each step. After a moment Jean followed, subtly wiping the back of his hand over his face to make sure there was no lingering evidence of shed tears. Jaeger had probably already noticed but he didn’t want to make it obvious. 

When they reached Jean’s room Eren rapped on the door with his fist. It swung open without protest and Jaeger looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“If some fucking moron hadn’t broken the damn door in the first place it wouldn’t be a problem,” snapped Jean. 

Eren stepped inside and Jean trailed after him, pushing the door shut and latching the dead bolt to keep it that way.

The air between them was tense, an issue that Jean hadn’t anticipated. On the occasion that Eren had broken down the door and made himself comfortable he’d been uninhibited. Now Jaeger was teetering on the edge of uncertainty, his discomfort made obvious by the wrinkle lodged between his eyebrows. Jean didn’t know what had changed. 

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. Jean opened his mouth to tell Jaeger to get the hell out, but the only thing that escaped was a huff of air. He pressed his lips together and glanced down at his hands. They were shaking, trembling like withered autumn leaves. As badly as he wanted to just make Jaeger leave, at the same time he didn’t want to be left alone, not feeling the way that he did. It was like a fatal emotional wound had been dealt on the night of the shooting, on the night that he’d snuffed out a life. It had healed a little around the edges, enough to keep him alive, but it wouldn’t stay that way. Everything in his life had been picking at the edges, like tiny fingernails tugging at the edges of a scab. When he’d seen his car it had torn the healing flesh right off, leaving him bloody, exposed. 

He didn’t know what he would do if Eren left. 

He didn’t know what to do if he stayed, either.

“I think we should talk about this,” said Eren, pulling Jean out of his mental crisis.

Jean clenched his hands into fists to hide the shaking. “What’s there to talk about? Last time you were in my apartment you were practically forcing yourself on me. Getting cold feet, Jaeger?”

“Fuck you,” said Eren, but there was no heat behind the words. “I was doing that because you were a wreck. I was trying to help.”

“With sex.”

“How the fuck else am I supposed to help?” said Eren, his voice rising slightly. “I’m not good with feelings and shit. I don’t know what to say to people.”

“What about the day you helped yourself to my beer and tried to bond with me?”

“You were dating Armin! I couldn’t really offer you an orgasm.”

“Then what’s your damn problem now?”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” said Eren. “I think you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“It is morning, dumbass.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re still just worried about Captain finding out,” said Jean, the words edged with a taunt. “You don’t want to get in trouble. Or maybe it’s Levi that you’d like to nail instead.”

“Fuck you, Kirschtein.”

“If you want to go then go,” said Jean. He kept his voice steady, trying to diffuse the venom in Eren’s tone. He didn’t want to pressure Jaeger into anything. Asshole or not, Eren was his friend. “But I won’t regret this because it’s not a big deal. I’m not asking you to get all sentimental here. I just feel like I’m on the verge of a fucking panic attack because my entire life is falling into pieces and I think I’m breaking along with it. It just keeps getting worse. I mean, you think that killing someone is the worst thing you can ever do, but it just keeps getting fucking _worse_. I feel like I’m falling apart and I have no fucking idea what to do. So if you’re going to leave then go so I can start drinking. It’s going to take a while to get blackout drunk with the cheap beer I have in the fridge but I’m going to give it a damn good shot.”

Eren closed his eyes and inhaled, chest expanding with the breath, before releasing it in a huff. He slit his eyelids open into a glare. “You’re not allowed to get pissed at me over this later. You asked for it.” He braced his back against the wall and started unlacing his boots, letting them plop to the floor one at a time. Then he turned and slunk into Jean’s room without a word. 

After a moment Jean followed, padding through the doorway in time to see Jaeger rifling through his nightstand for the lube. 

“Sit down,” said Eren, pointing at the bed with his free hand. He found the small bottle and gripped it tightly as he crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

He kicked the door shut before Jean could admit that he had no idea. It was the least of his worries, however, and his mind quickly strayed back to the message that had been carved into his car. His thoughts bolted down that path so quickly that he couldn’t rein them in and then he was thinking about eyes; one set of dead, glazed ones and what felt like hundreds of angry ones. 

When Eren emerged from the bathroom Jean twitched, startled. Part of it was from the sudden presence and part of it was from the fact that Jaeger was stark naked. 

Jean swallowed and averted his eyes, looking across the room at the single window instead. The blinds were shut , but in the dark room he could see the faintest light of dawn beginning to glow beyond the window.

“If you can’t even look at me we’re going to have a problem,” said Eren. He stood in the middle of the room, arms folded across his chest, unashamed. “Why’re you just sitting there? Strip.”

Jean wanted to snap back a sharp reply but the words evaporated on his tongue.

Eren sighed, his irritation dulling around the edges. He stepped forward and offered a hand, which was reluctantly accepted. Jean was pulled to his feet and his shirt was yanked over his head too quickly for him to protest. Eren started working nimbly at the button on his jeans, the scratch of the zipper loud in the muffled quiet of the apartment. Eren slid his fingers beneath the waistband and paused. It was a moment before Jean could bring himself to meet Eren’s eyes.

“You sure this is what you wanna do?” Eren asked with a seriousness that Jean had only seen him employ on the job. 

“Like you said, it doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s just… I just need… _something_.” There was a plea buried in that statement, a slight wavering of his voice.

Eren gripped the waist of his jeans and tugged them down, the denim pooling at Jean’s feet. He clumsily stepped out of them and then Eren gave him a solid push, sending him into a sprawl on the bed. 

By the time Jean righted himself Eren was on his knees, hands smoothing up the backs of Jean’s calves. Eren pushed Jean’s thighs apart, leaned forward, and dipped his head to take Jean into his mouth.

Jean’s hands clutched at the sheets on either side of him. He let his head fall back, teeth closing on his bottom lip as Eren sucked him to hardness. He tried not to allow himself to feel awkward. It wasn’t as if this hadn’t happened before. The two of them had been drunk in the bathroom of a bar, but it still counted. 

Besides, they’d agreed it didn’t mean anything. This was casual; no need to be uncomfortable. 

Jaeger teased the tip of Jean’s cock with his tongue and Jean temporarily forgot what he was trying not to worry about.

“Fuck,” he said, the single word tumbling between his lips without his consent. His grip on the sheets tightened. He had the urge to reach out and fist a hand in Eren’s mess of hair but he suppressed it. 

Eren’s head bobbed several more times, maintaining the suction, until he slid his mouth off of Jean’s cock and looked up at him. One of his tanned hands gripped Jean’s leg, just above the knee. The other was between his own legs, wrist flicking as he stroked.

That was the moment where Jean was supposed to cradle Eren’s face in his hand. He was supposed to lean forward and kiss him in a whirl of lips and teeth and tongue. But that was too personal. That would make this real.

Instead he shuffled back and made room on the bed. Eren stood, wincing a little as his knees straightened out, and climbed onto the mattress. He sat in the direct center, legs crossed, one hand still skimming up and down his length. He tilted his head at Jean, a slight smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, the mouth that had just been on Jean’s cock.

“You ready, Kirschtein?” said Eren, the question more of a taunt. “This is your last chance to back out if you think you can’t handle it.”

Jean didn’t know if he was more turned on or irritated.

“I don’t know how you ever get laid if you’re this much of an asshole during sex,” said Jean. 

Eren lounged back on the bed with a grin. Jean’s eyes darted over the muscles flexing beneath his skin, on his arms and his chest and his thighs, visible even in the faint light from the half-open bathroom door. 

“Are you gonna stare or fuck me?” said Eren, spreading his legs in invitation. “Just remember this is a one-time thing. Next time you’re the one getting fucked.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Eren shrugged, unbothered. “Whatever.”

Jean started to reach toward the drawer of his nightstand, then hesitated and looked toward the bathroom door.

“Where’d you put the lube?”

He could feel Eren’s stare drilling into the side of his head. “Are you really that stupid?”

Jean looked back at him, confused.

“I’m ready to go, dumbass,” said Eren. “What did you think I was doing in there?”

Jean scowled, not rising to the jab, and pulled his legs onto the bed. The mattress was a twin so there wasn’t an excess of space, but he managed to maneuver himself between Jaeger’s legs, leaning over him with his arms braced on either side of Eren’s shoulders.

Eren was still working his cock lazily, sliding up from the base, ghosting over the head, then squeezing down to repeat the motion. He pillowed his free arm behind his head, looking up at Jean with a raised brow. “You waiting for an invitation?”

Jean bit down on his sarcastic comments and lined himself up with Eren’s entrance, barely nudging against it. 

“Sure you prepped enough?” said Jean.

“Of course I’m sure.”

Jean started to push in but hesitated again. “Wait. Condom.”

“Fuck it.”

There was a moment of crystal clarity during which Jean realized what he was doing was not the best idea he’d ever had. The entire situation was sketchy at best, but doing this without protection was just outright stupid.

He started to protest but then Eren lifted his hips an inch off the bed, grinding against Jean’s cock, and all rational thought was gone.

He shifted the weight of his upper body to one hand, used the other to grip the base of his cock, and pushed his way inside Eren with a groan that slipped between gritted teeth.

It was too tight. Jean felt like he was going to be crushed into pulp.

“Fucking Christ, Jaeger,” he hissed. “You said you were ready.”

“I am,” Eren snapped back. Jean tried to pull out but Eren leaned forward, gripping Jean’s ass and keeping him in position. “God, just wait a minute.”

“I’m just going to get some more-”

“It’s fine! I used half the damn bottle. I’ll be shitting lube for a week. Will you just fucking trust me?”

Jean wanted to keep arguing but Eren’s ass was clenching around him and he was having trouble forming proper sentences. He squeezed his eyes closed, staying passively in place as Eren’s legs wrapped around his waist and forced him the rest of the way in. Jean flung out his other hand and braced himself against the mattress, breath coming in heavy gusts. 

“I always thought your dick would be smaller,” said Eren. Despite the taunt his voice was strained. “Not going to lie, I’m a little impressed.” 

“Asshole,” Jean mumbled, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation of his cock buried in tight, euphoric heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt it. He and Armin had always used condoms; no exceptions. He’d forgotten what it was like to go in bare.

“Do you make that face every time you fuck or is it just for me?” said Eren, shifting a big beneath him. “I hope it’s just me, it’d scare anyone else limp.”

“Could you stop talking for two minutes?”

“If I wanted, yeah.”

“Will you?”

“Only if you make me scream instead.”

The challenge sent a surge of heat straight to Jean’s cock. He bit down on the sound building in his throat.

A moment passed before Eren said, “Whenever you’re ready. And don’t fucking hold back. If it hurts that means you’re doing it right.”

Jean wanted to tell Eren what a fucking idiot he was. Instead he adjusted his position, clamped one hand on Eren’s hip, and slowly slid his way out. It was still tight, but bearable, and his cock came out coated in a shining layer of lube. Eren hadn’t exaggerated about the amount used.

He paused for a moment, the air cold on his cock, and watched Eren’s hand drag back and forth.

“Stop enjoying the view,” said Eren. “Are you just gonna fucking sit there or are you gonna- _fuck_!”

Jean slammed into him, hips jolting forward, burying himself so deeply that his balls slapped against Eren’s ass. He threw his head back, his groan mingling with Eren’s shouted expletive.

He pulled back and thrust in again, pistoning his hips forward with such force that Eren was pushed several inches back. He readjusted and kept slamming into him, shallow pants slipping between his lips. 

Eren flung one arm over his head and braced himself to keep from bashing his head into the wall. He unwrapped his legs from around Jean’s waist and planted his heels into the mattress, lunging his hips upwards in time with Jean’s thrusts. 

It was so overwhelmingly euphoric that for a few minutes, Jean’s mind was devoid of everything except a faint, pleasurable static. He forgot about what he’d been through in the past month. He forgot about his car. He forgot that it was Eren fucking Jaeger writhing beneath him, digging his fingernails into Jean’s shoulder like claws, leaving marks that made Jean hiss in satisfaction. 

He forgot, and it was bliss.

“Oh, shit,” said Eren. He angled his hips slightly and threw his head back, a stretch of long, tanned throat exposed. Jean’s initial impulse was to clamp his mouth on Eren’s neck and leave marks so dark that they’d still be there next month. But that would be crossing the line. That would make it personal. “Right there, fuck, harder!”

Jean complied, slamming into him with all the strength he had left. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He focused only on fucking, which was more than enough to occupy his mind.

“Fuck,” panted Eren, “fuck, fuck, _ahh_ …”

His cursing turned into a throaty moan that tapered into silence as Eren came, his back arched off of the bed, strings spraying across his stomach. He collapsed limply onto the mattress but Jean didn’t change his pace. He kept thrusting as deeply as he could, spurred on by the sensation of Eren clenching around him through his orgasm. 

The pressure built, suffocating, crushing, until Jean came. He buried himself deep and let the orgasm take him, blacking out his vision and sending deafening spirals of pleasure surging through his limbs. 

A moment later he collapsed beside Eren and tried to get his panting under control, staring blankly at the ceiling. Jaeger’s breath was just as erratic but was beginning to regulate. His eyes were closed and he looked more peaceful than Jean had felt in his entire life. They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither of them scraping up the energy to move. 

It wasn’t cuddling, not really. They were just existing in each other’s personal space.

“That wasn’t the worst sex I’ve ever had,” Eren finally mumbled with a smirk. 

Jean couldn’t argue with that.

He heaved himself off of the bed with palpable reluctance, staggering toward the bathroom on legs that no longer wanted to support him. After he wiped himself off he returned to the bedroom and threw a damp washcloth at Eren’s head.

“Fuck you, too,” said Eren, his voice slow and groggy. He sat up just enough to haphazardly clean himself off before discarding the soiled washcloth in the floor and rolling onto his side. Two minutes later he was dead asleep.

Jean considered shaking him awake and kicking him out, but remembered that Eren had just gotten off of a twelve-hour night shift. He was probably exhausted, especially after the post-work activities.

Instead of rousing him, Jean pulled on a clean pair of underwear and padded over to the bed, studying the empty stretch of mattress between Eren and the wall. 

There wasn’t much room, but Jean wasn’t very big, either. He could’ve fit quite comfortably, especially if he pressed his back into Eren’s chest, or flipped Jaeger over and did the opposite.

For a minute he really considered it. Then he grabbed a handful of sheets and flung them over Jaeger before grabbing a spare blanket out of the closet and padding into the living room.

He didn’t have a spare pillow, so there would probably be a crick in his neck by the time he’d laid on the couch for a couple of hours. Still, it was better than wrapping himself up with Eren and pretending there was anything between them. Sex was one thing, but actually sleeping together afterward was something else entirely. 

He wondered if he and Marco would have slept in the same bed together if he’d brought him home.

Jean winced at the thought, a swirl of guilt replacing his lazy tranquility. 

He told himself there was no reason to feel bad about it. It wasn’t as if he and Marco were in a relationship. They’d gone on one date. It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, he and Eren were just friends. 

Really close friends, now, but still just friends.

He wondered if Marco would ever even speak to him again if he found out.

He wondered how Armin would react if he knew.

He wondered why he was so hellbent on torturing himself with painful scenarios.

Jean shifted around on the couch, tried to force the too-small blanket into covering all of him, and closed his eyes. It was six a.m. There was no choice but to go back to sleep and worry about everything when he woke up.

After about half an hour of uncomfortable twisting and turning, Jean finally drifted into a solid, soothing sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have the most non-romantic sex scene I've ever written. 
> 
> I almost feel like I should apologize.


	23. Chapter 23

Even though Jean had gotten a full night’s sleep already, he remained unconscious until about noon. When he finally rose he crept into the bedroom as quietly as possible in an attempt to not wake Eren. Jaeger was sprawled on his back with his mouth hanging open, light snores crackling from his mouth. It was the most unattractive thing that Jean had ever seen and he couldn’t believe he’d fucked that last night.

Jean shut himself inside the bathroom and took a moment to appreciate the perpetual bags under his eyes before stepping over to the toilet. After relieving himself Jean moved back to the sink, which was cluttered more than he remembered. Jaeger’s uniform was folded neatly on the counter, his duty belt hanging from Jean’s single towel rack. 

Jean eyed the gear for a moment before reaching out and curling his hand around the grip of the Glock secured in a black leather holster. The texture of the grip was identical to his own gun, the one that he’d been forced to turn over to the Chief weeks before. Having it pressed against his palm again was comforting, but it dredged up a whole new level of pain. 

A second later he realized that the last time he’d fired his own Glock it had killed someone. He jerked his hand back like he’d been scalded, an unexpected wave of nausea rising as his brain conjured up the familiar image of his hands bathed in blood. 

He sank onto the floor and rested his head on his knees, trying to control his breathing. He gagged once but managed to keep himself from vomiting, which was a relief. If he’d puked the sound definitely would have woken Eren and then he would’ve had to explain why he’d suddenly fallen ill. If he admitted that just thinking about the shooting had such an effect on him then Jean would be institutionalized for sure. He’d never get his job back. 

And Jean needed his job. He was, first and foremost, an officer. He didn’t know what he’d be without the title, without the authority.

He guessed he wouldn’t be much of anything. 

He sneaked back through the bedroom without disturbing Eren and exiled himself to the couch. Luckily he’d called the cable company a few days before to provide some sort of dull entertainment in his monotonous life. He sat in the living room and watched a cheesy crime program, silently picking out all of the mistakes they made in regards to investigative protocol.

It was three hours later before Jaeger finally stirred. The sound of his footsteps was muffled by the bedroom door but Jean could hear him fumbling around.

Jean put the TV on mute and waited. He wondered if things were going to be weird now, if they’d crossed a line that they should have left alone. It was Jean’s fault, even though it had been Eren who’d suggested it before. This time it was all Jean.

About five minutes later Eren emerged from the bedroom. His hair was a disaster, his clothes were wrinkled, and he looked at Jean through squinted eyes.

It took Jean a moment to realize that the wrinkled clothes were his. Eren must have found them in one of the floor piles.

“Put some pants on,” said Eren, his voice thick from sleep. “I can’t make it through tonight’s shift if I don’t get some food first and I know there’s not a damn thing here.”

“Are you planning to drive the cruiser? In case you forgot my car isn’t here.”

“I’m not stupid, moron,” said Eren. “We’ll walk to that café on the corner. They have soup and shit. You’re buying for making me stay over last night. I feel like shit.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” said Jean, pushing himself off the couch. The spare blanket fell away from him. Even though he knew it was ridiculous to be self-conscious about standing there in his underwear after the night they’d had, he still hustled into the bedroom to find some pants. 

He felt Eren following him but didn’t turn back as he dug through the heap of clothes at the bottom of his closet.

“Why didn’t you kick me to the couch?” said Eren, looming in the doorway. 

“You were dead asleep and I didn’t want to drag your heavy ass out of the bed. I’d probably throw out my back.”

The least crumpled thing Jean could find was a pair of sweatpants. He stepped into them and yanked a hoodie off of a flimsy metal hanger, pulling it over his head without bothering to layer a shirt underneath. 

“Classy,” said Eren, eyeing Jean with a raised brow.

“You don’t look any better.”

“Yeah, because I’m wearing your shitty clothes.”

“Fuck you. You’ll have to wear your work boots. I know you won’t fit into my shoes, sasquatch.”

After a few minutes of companionable bickering and a short walk, the two of them were sitting in the café a block away from Jean’s apartment, slurping soup and ignoring the speculative glances from the other patrons. Neither of them had bothered trying to tame their hair. That paired with their overall appearance of disorder was enough to have people talking. 

Fortunately Eren Jaeger didn’t seem to have even the slightest sense of shame and Jean had too many things to worry about already so neither of them were particularly bothered.

“What about the dog?” said Jean about halfway into their meal.

“What about him?”

“Shouldn’t he be fed or something?”

“I have a neighbor who takes care of him when I’m working,” said Eren. “He feeds him and lets him out every few hours.”

“Nice neighbor.”

“Nah. He takes care of Diesel and I don’t arrest him for growing the little pot plant in his closet. It works out pretty well.”

Jean snorted into his soup.

“What are you going to do about the Mustang?”

Jean’s humor was gone instantly. He shrugged and frowned down at his soup, appetite gone. “I guess I’ll call a few places and see who’ll fix it. I’ll have the towing company take it over.”

“I’ll talk to Levi,” said Eren. “Maybe he’ll lock the report as confidential since it has something to do with an ongoing case. Sort of. I don’t know, but I’ll try.”

“Thanks.”

Despite his helpful attitude, Eren hadn’t been joking about making Jean pay. When the check came he sat back with his arms folded until Jean gave in and dug out his wallet. “You owe me anyway,” said Eren. “I bought you pizza when you were hiding under your blankets for a week.”

It wasn’t untrue.

They went back to the apartment and Eren headed straight for the shower.

It was weird having Jaeger in his home, helping himself to whatever he wanted, especially since the first time Eren had even been inside the apartment was less than a month before. Strangely, though, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Even after the night before things weren’t awkward. 

They were friends, and that was the kind of thing that friends did. 

Except for the sex, and that was a one-time thing.

It wouldn’t happen again.

“So have you heard anything from Hanji?”

Eren sauntered into the living room in full uniform, struggling with the snaps on his duty belt. He successfully secured one and looped another belt keeper around the opposite side, between his gun and his baton. He snapped it into place as Jean answered.

“No, nothing. Not since I talked to her a few days ago and she accused me of wiping my bodycam data.”

Eren’s hands paused. He lifted his gaze, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Well maybe not _accused_ ,” Jean amended. “She asked me if I did. I said no and she let it go.”

“So she believed you.”

“I guess so.”

Eren shook his head and squeezed the last snap into place. “That’s stupid. It’s not your fault it malfunctioned. Chief buys the cheapest damn ones on the market.”

Jean felt comforted by the fact that Eren hadn’t even hesitated. There wasn’t even a shred of doubt, of accusation. 

Jaeger grabbed his boots, sat on the arm of the couch, and hunched over to lace them up.

“It’s going to be a long damn night,” he grumbled, pulling the leg of his pants over the top of his boot. “Armin’s going to be prancing around pretending like he knows what he’s doing and it’s just fucking annoying.”

“To be fair, he actually does know what he’s doing,” said Jean. Eren’s glare drilled into him and he elaborated. “I mean, he’s smart as hell. He knows the job in and out, he’s just not great at being assertive with people. You know how Bert does? Like, he’s stressed to the point of a panic attack one second but when he needs to jump into something he flips a fucking switch and it’s a 180? Armin doesn’t have that. He doesn’t have any confidence about shit like that because he’s constantly second-guessing himself.”

“Are you fucking defending him? He deserted us for investigations!”

“He didn’t desert anybody,” said Jean, not sure why he was even bothering. Eren’s skull was as hard as concrete. Once he was dead set on something not much was going to change his mind. “He transferred to investigations because he felt he wasn’t doing a good job on patrol. It was his best option. You have to admit, he’s a kick ass investigator. He’s as good as Hanji and she’s the Major.”

“It doesn’t matter how good he is. He fucking left us. And now he’s parading around in our faces again trying to fit in and it’s just annoying.”

“You’re a lot more bitter about this than you used to be. I thought it was bad before but I swear to god it’s just festering.”

“No, I just never said anything to you before because you were dating him. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Jean felt a surge of heat that tasted like anger. “I was thinking that Armin’s a good guy, because he is.”

“That didn’t keep you from dumping him.”

“That wasn’t his fucking fault,” snapped Jean. “He was never anything but nice to me, and he’s never been any less to you. You were his best fucking friend, Jaeger. How do you think it made him feel when you decided to hate him?”

“He shouldn’t have left!”

“He made a decision for himself, probably for the first time in his life.” Jean clenched his jaw and tried not to think about how crushed Armin must have looked when he’d discovered Eren had turned his back on him. It was probably similar to the way he’d looked when Jean did the same thing. “If you knew how miserable he was when you started ignoring him and talking shit behind his back maybe you’d think about it a little differently. You know he didn’t ask to be put back on patrol now to cover my spot. He probably begged for them to pick someone else because he knew this is how it would be and now you’re being a bigger asshole than usual and making it worse. Why don’t you try being decent to him and see what happens?”

“I guess now that you’ve fucked someone else you’re getting all sentimental about Armin,” said Eren. He pushed his hair away from his eyes and stood, making slight adjustments to his duty belt. The movements were careful, controlled, and it was clear that he was trying to keep his temper in check. “You want him back now?”

“I already fucked that up for good,” said Jean. “There’s not a chance left there. Even if there was I wouldn’t take it. That doesn’t mean I can’t still like Armin. He’s a good person.”

Eren scoffed. “Good people don’t abandon their friends.”

“He probably thinks the same thing about you.”

That made Eren pause. Then his scowl just deepened and he stomped to the door, fitting his earpiece into place. “Most people mellow out after a good fuck. I don’t know what your damn problem is.”

“You are, as usual. Just have a conversation with him instead of chewing his ass all night. He was your best friend.”

“Was.”

“You know Levi doesn’t like when there’s conflict in a shift,” said Jean. 

That made Eren stop with his hand on the door, head cocked slightly to the side.

Jean bit down on a grin. He should’ve played that card to start with and spared himself the trouble. Eren was too stubborn to listen to anyone else, but he thought that Levi had hung the fucking stars. 

“He likes everyone to get along,” Jean continued, “despite their problems. It’s a safer way to do the job, knowing you can trust everyone on the shift to have your back. Captain is all about officer safety.”

“I fucking know that,” spat Eren.

“What do you think Captain would say if he’d heard the way you talked to Armin last night?”

“Fuck off, Kirsctein,” said Eren, shoving the door open. “Mind your own damn business.”

He slammed the door shut behind him. Since the latch was broken it bounced open again but Jaeger didn’t stop. Jean heard the thud of his boots pacing along the hallway. Despite the rude farewell, Jean smirked as he got up to engage the deadbolt. The conversation may come to nothing, but it would at least make Eren think. 

Jean and Armin may not have been on the best of terms, but that didn’t mean that Jean wanted him to be miserable. He’d always liked Armin. He’d maybe even loved him; neither of them had gotten to the point of confessing those deep emotions. Either way, Armin deserved to be happy.

He sat back down on the couch and spent the rest of the evening surfing channels.

It was around nine o’clock when he received a text. He expected it to be from Eren, complaining about something Armin had done. 

Jean experienced the pull of a smile and a nervous lurch in his stomach when he saw it was from Marco.

_Hope you’ve had a good day! I have to work tomorrow but I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch on Friday? My treat!_

Jean was glad to hear from him. There was no doubt about that. But he couldn’t shake the coil of guilt that reminded him he’d slept with another man directly after his date with Marco.

They weren’t in a relationship, though. He didn’t owe Marco anything. 

That didn’t keep him from feeling guilty. Since the shooting guilt had become his go-to emotion, whether it was warranted or not.

Despite the prickle of shame, he messaged back fairly quickly.

_Sure, I’d love to._


	24. Chapter 24

At noon on Thursday Jean stepped outside, winced from the direct sunlight, and regretted not grabbing a pair of sunglasses before he’d left. He considered running back up to get them but saw, through squinted eyes, Marco waving at him. He offered a quick wave back and started toward the car. He paused before he opened the door, taking a moment to deliberate whether he was willing to risk being seen in a Geo Metro. A second later he was sliding into the passenger seat, greeted by Marco’s smile.

As soon as Jean had mentioned that the Mustang was in the shop Marco had immediately offered to pick him up, and Jean couldn’t say no. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it either, despite the type of vehicle.

Unlike Jean, Marco had the presence of mind to wear his sunglasses. The lenses were dark but the rest of his face was bright enough to make up for them. He had more freckles than Jean had realized. They were more visible when the sun was out in full force, scattered across his skin like small constellations.

“Hi,” said Marco, smile unfaltering beneath Jean’s scrutiny.

“Hey,” said Jean. “How’s it going?”

“Great. You?”

“Good. Where do you want to go?”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Not really.”

“Okay then.” With that Marco shifted into drive and cruised out of the parking lot, merging neatly into the lunch hour traffic on the street. He seemed to have a destination in mind but Jean decided not to ask. He could live with a surprise.

Belatedly Jean reached for his seatbelt, clicking it into place before glancing sideways at Marco. “So,” he began, “are you a good driver? You’re not going to get in a fiery explosion and kill me?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Marco. “If so it’ll be my first accident. We’ll both be surprised.”

“You’ve never wrecked?” said Jean. 

“Nope.”

“Not even once?”

“Not even once. They wouldn’t let me drive the ambulance if my driving history wasn’t good. Yours is too, right? Doesn’t that come with the job?”

“Well yeah, of course,” said Jean. “I’ve never wrecked a personal vehicle.”

He felt Marco glance at him.

“But…?”

“But I’ve had a couple of incidents with my cruiser. Not a big deal.”

Marco chuckled. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Depends on your definition of trouble.” Jean settled more comfortably into the seat. The car was an older model but it seemed fairly well-kept. The dashboard had been recently wiped down and the floor mats were clean. A couple of round cigarette burns scarred the edge of his seat, but Jean felt confident assuming they hadn’t come from Marco. “The first time I backed into a mailbox. Captain just shoved the post back in the ground and told me not to tell anyone. The second time I popped a u-turn in the middle of Main Street and bumped a car on the other side of the road.” 

Bumped was an understatement. He’d decimated that car. It was a miracle he and the driver had walked away uninjured. Levi had been up his ass for months.

“I got written up over that one,” he said. He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, silently cursing himself for mentioning it at all. Talking about the stupid shit he’d done wasn’t good second-date material.

Marco laughed. “Well if that’s the worst wreck you’re ever in I think you’ll be alright.”

Jean smiled despite himself. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They exchanged comfortable small talk until Marco pulled into their destination. He’d chosen a pizza parlor in the middle of town, one that Jean had been to several times with his shift. 

“This okay with you?” Marco asked as he parked, waiting for Jean’s response before he killed the engine.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can never turn down pizza.”

They sat in a booth away from the window, which Jean was grateful for. Sunlight wasn’t his favorite thing. He was more of a cloudy day kind of guy. 

The pizza was served on a long buffet line that split the restaurant in half. That was good because there was no wait, but also unsettling because Jean felt as if he was being stared at every time he got up to refill a plate.

It was probably his imagination. He was almost certain no one was really paying an excess amount of attention to him. 

Even so, that didn’t erase the crawling feeling on the back of his neck that felt like a few sets of eyes had locked onto him.

When he sat down with his food the sensation passed and he pushed the paranoia aside as he talked with Marco. 

“Olives?” said Jean through a mouthful, pointing at Marco’s plate with a half-eaten crust. “That’s gross, dude.”

“Not as gross as mushrooms.” Marco’s nose crinkled a little, the freckles bunching together. 

“Mushrooms are delicious.”

“There’s something about the texture. They’re kind of slimy. Like eating slugs.”

Jean frowned down at his plate, shrugged, and took another bite of slug. 

The atmosphere between the two of them was casual, relaxed. Marco was easy to talk to. Jean found himself accidentally saying things he normally would have kept to himself, things like the car accident. No matter what stupidity spilled out of his mouth, though, Marco didn’t appear to be judging him. He would just laugh, head tilted slightly back, white teeth flashing, sunlight reflecting in the sunglasses nestled in his mess of dark hair. 

It was much more comfortable than dating Armin. Jean had always cared for Armin – still did, to some degree – but things between them had never been so relaxed. If Armin was there he would have gotten a salad from the buffet and nothing else, and Jean would have felt self-conscious about eating half his weight in pizza.

Marco had no reservations about devouring an entire pizza, so Jean shamelessly did the same.

Jean watched him for a moment, temporarily forgetting about the food in front of him.

“You must work out a lot.”

The words were out before Jean could stop them. The statement hung in the air between them, Jean shifting uncomfortably as Marco raised a brow at him.

“I mean,” he said, “you would have to if you usually eat about ten pounds of pizza for a single meal. If you didn’t you’d be like four hundred pounds and you’re in pretty good shape.”

Trying to justify the statement left Jean feeling even more awkward, but Marco grinned.

“I go to the gym a lot, yeah,” he said. “I want to stay fit for the job. You never know when there’s going to be an emergency and you’re going to have to carry someone out of a bad situation.”

That was noble. Jean had always been taught to drag people if necessary.

“You probably do a lot of cardio,” said Marco, pausing for a sip of Coke. “Since you’re so thin.”

“Not really.” Jean shrugged and looked down at his mostly empty plate. “I used to run a lot but not so much anymore. I just have a good metabolism, I guess. I don’t think I could gain weight if I wanted to.”

There were a few beats of silence. Jean felt awkward but Marco looked unaffected, munching on his last slice of pizza contently.

The entrance bell chimed and Jean glanced at the door automatically before returning his attention to Marco. Then he did a double-take, narrowing his eyes at the pair who’d just wandered in. They were heading toward the other side of the restaurant. As long as they stayed over there they probably wouldn’t see Jean. As long as they didn’t notice him…

Before they sat down they realized the sun was glaring in through the window and circled the buffet instead, moving toward a table close to Jean and Marco. 

Jean rested his face in his hand and tried to be unobtrusive as they passed, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed.

That turned out to be a waste of time.

“Marco?” Sasha stopped in front of their booth, her surprise giving way to a warm smile. “I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here?”

Her gaze swooped over to Jean where the genial familiarity froze, cracking to reveal bewildered distaste. 

Connie must have felt the tension because he stepped forward and lightly slapped Jean on the shoulder. “Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Fine,” Jean mumbled, trying not to look directly at him. Connie was dressed in full uniform and just the sight of it made his heart sink. 

Sasha had chosen to completely disregard Jean for the meantime, instead engaging Marco in lively conversation. They clearly knew each other fairly well but Jean couldn’t figure out how. She seemed surprised to see him in town, so maybe she knew him from a while back.

Jean didn’t get the chance to ask. He wasn’t involved in the conversation until Sasha mentioned where she worked.

“Oh,” said Marco, “then you and Jean work together.”

He looked to Jean, smiling, obviously trying his best to be inclusive. His expression faltered when the look exchanged between Jean and Sasha was a shade less than friendly. “Yeah,” said Jean, trying to keep his voice neutral, “if you want to call sitting around in an office all day ‘work’.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He was well aware it was a bad idea, especially in front of Marco, who hadn’t yet realized what an ass Jean actually was. He wasn’t even angry at Sasha anymore. He was over it.

So why did shit keep spewing out of his mouth?

He saw the anger bubbling beneath Sasha’s expression like boiling water, threatening to spill over. Jean braced himself, waiting for her to snap back at him. Instead she ripped her gaze away and said, voice flat, “It was good to see you, Marco. Maybe next time it’ll be in better company.”

She turned on her heel and strode to the far side of the room, plopping down in a chair with her back toward the two of them. 

Connie hurried after her, pausing only to say, “See you later, Jean. Bye, medic. Uh, Marco.” 

The silence left behind lacked the easygoing mood of moments before. Jean silently cursed himself for ruining a good thing. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?

“I’m surprised the two of you don’t get along,” Marco said quietly. “Sasha is usually friends with everyone.”

“We’re friends,” Jean said, the statement too defensive. “Sort of. I mean, we got along okay until I was on light duty in the office for a while. Then we had a little bit of a falling out.”

“Sasha works in the office?”

Jean paused, trying to figure out why that seemed to surprise him. “Uh, yeah. She’s one of the secretaries.”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “Oh. I assumed she was an officer.”

Jean snorted; he couldn’t help it. “Sasha? Seriously?”

His humor evaporated quickly when Marco remained unamused.

“That’s what she did in Jinae,” said Marco, keeping his voice low. He watched as Connie and Sasha approached the buffet, the latter pointedly keeping her face turned away from them. “She was a Corporal like you. She was next in line for Sergeant, actually. She would’ve been promoted if she hadn’t…” He trailed off and looked back at Jean. “Wait, you didn’t know that? She didn’t tell you?”

“That she was a cop? Hell no.” Jean watched Sasha load her plate six slices high, trying to come to terms with what Marco was saying. He couldn’t picture it. “She was going to be a Sergeant? Are you kidding me?”

“She was a really good officer,” said Marco, shrugging one shoulder. “One of the best in Jinae.”

“Then what the hell is she doing pushing papers?”

The question made Marco hesitate. He bit his lip, a pointed canine flashing into view. “I figured she was back in the field by now. There was an… _incident_ in Jinae and she had to quit. Nothing bad,” he said, interpreting Jean’s expression, “something out of her control. I don’t know why she hasn’t told anyone.”

Jean waited patiently for Marco to elaborate. That patience ran out in about thirty seconds. “What happened?”

Marco looked torn. After a moment he shook his head, shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t think it’s my place to say. I’ve probably said too much already. If she wanted you to know she would tell you herself.”

Fuck. Jean was definitely never going to know.

“I hope you’re not upset,” said Marco when it appeared Jean wasn’t going to respond. “I just don’t want to invade her privacy.”

“No, it’s fine. I get that. I don’t want you to tell me anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

Marco smiled a little. Jean wondered how he could seem so cheery all the time. He must’ve bought happiness by the pound.

The waitress glided by and left a curling receipt on the edge of the table. Jean reached for it automatically but Marco snatched it up first.

“I told you I’d pay,” said Marco, not even glancing at the price. “That was the deal.”

“Fuck the deal,” said Jean. “That’s not the reason I agreed to come.”

It was just a statement, but Marco read into it a little too much.

“Oh?” he said, absently smoothing the receipt between his fingers. “Then what was the reason?”

_Because you’re charming and attractive and for some ungodly reason you want to spend time with me._

Jean shrugged. “I don’t know. Just to have something to do?”

Marco grinned, likely seeing straight through the act. “I’ll go pay. Be right back.”

He strode up to the register and Jean watched him walk away, wondering why Marco was still even speaking to him. Clearly he and Sasha were old friends. Seeing them bicker in the middle of a restaurant wasn’t exactly appealing. 

It was still on his mind when Marco returned and the two of them started toward the door. As soon as they stepped outside the words leapt out of Jean’s mouth.

“Why aren’t you pissed at me?”

Marco stopped, one foot on the sidewalk and one on the asphalt of the parking lot. He turned to face Jean, brow knit tightly in confusion. “What?”

“You like Sasha, right?” said Jean. “She hates me. That’s a red flag right there. A clear indication that I’m an asshole. You shouldn’t still be talking to me.”

Unless Marco was just being polite long enough to get Jean back home so he could subsequently never speak to him again. Maybe that was Marco’s style. He would let Jean down as easily as possible to spare his feelings.

“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” said Marco. “It’s not my business. I can’t judge you based on your relationships with other people.”

“You’re being serious right now.”

“Of course I am.”

It was just too much. Marco couldn’t be this tolerant, this acceptant. It wasn’t natural and it wouldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before Jean did something that tipped him over the edge, something that plunged him into bitter resentment instead of candy-coated charm. 

That time would come sooner rather than later if Jean’s mouth had anything to do with it.

“I fucked my best friend the other night,” he said, the words spilling out like vomit. 

That one caught Marco off guard. He stood stiffly, eyeing Jean with an unreadable expression.

“The night after our date, actually,” said Jean. He wanted to turn off the words but they just kept coming, his mouth a broken faucet. “My car got fucked up and I was upset, like, _really_ upset. He came to do the report and I asked him to stay and he did. And we fucked. It was an accident. Well, not really an accident. I did it on purpose but I shouldn’t have. I mean, he’s my friend. _Just_ my friend. It was stupid. I mean, yeah, it kind of made me feel better but only for a minute because it was just sex, you know? It’s not like it meant anything, not with him. It would never mean anything with him. He’s a fucking moron.”

For a long moment Marco just stared at him. Jean remained rooted in place, looking anywhere but at Marco. He wondered why he couldn’t learn to keep his mouth shut. He wondered if Connie and Sasha could see them from inside the restaurant. He wondered how long it would take him to walk home after Marco drove off without him.

“Why do you go out of your way to try and make people dislike you?”

Jean snapped his gaze back up. Marco’s forehead was still furrowed into a series of lightly etched wrinkles interspersed with freckles. He didn’t look angry like Jean expected. “What?”

“Do you even realize you’re doing it?” said Marco. He reached up and adjusted his sunglasses over his eyes, blocking the glare. “You expect people to see the worst in you and when they don’t you point it out for them. Why do you do that?”

Jean opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. He swallowed and said, “I don’t do that.”

“You do,” said Marco. The edge of his voice was sharp like a saw blade. “When I was at your apartment for your ankle I was being nice to you so you had to say something stupid to upset me. I don’t want to make assumptions, but I’m going to guess that you’ve done something to Sasha to make her dislike you, too. You expected me to be bothered that the two of you don’t get along and when I wasn’t you suddenly needed to say something even worse to try and make me mad. You don’t want people to like you, Jean. You don’t want people to be nice to you.”

Jean wanted to argue but couldn’t seem to shape the correct words.

“I think you’re afraid,” said Marco. “You’re afraid people won’t like you. Instead of waiting for that to happen you turn them against you on purpose so you can say it was intentional. You can say you drove them away instead of having to face the fact that they just don’t like you as a person. So you don’t have to face rejection. Is that what it is?”

Jean shook his head slowly, trying to catch up to that point in the conversation. Marco was going too quickly, the accusations rapid-fire. He sounded like Rico trying to analyze him, if Rico’s voice had been wrapped in warm, dark velvet.

“Jean, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. He really didn’t. He felt like a child being reprimanded, like a dog that had shit in the house. 

“ _Jean_.”

Marco had pushed his sunglasses up again. He squinted slightly but his stare didn’t waver. His face was stern, solid, brows set heavily over his eyes. “If you want to push me away I’m not going to come back. Is that what you want?”

That was the last thing Jean wanted. Even when Marco was berating him he felt something like warmth from him. Marco cared, even though he had no reason to. He was calling Jean out because he wanted to help him, although Jean couldn’t imagine why. 

“No,” Jean finally said, his voice small. “No, it’s not what I want.”

“Then you need to decide what you _do_ want,” said Marco. “If you think it’s not me then I’m not going to waste my time. I’ve been there before and I’m not doing it again. If you and your friend have some kind of relationship-”

“We _don’t_ ,” Jean said, the words snapping like a firecracker. “It was nothing. There’s nothing. Like I said, it was stupid. It’s not going to happen again.”

Marco considered him for a moment. It triggered a flashback to the occasions he was forced to speak during court, when the judge evaluated his testimony, searching for inaccuracies and deception. Marco was trying to decide if he was lying. 

Jean held his gaze, hoping he would read the honesty there. 

“I’m not trying to come off as a dick,” said Marco, the ice in his voice beginning to thaw. “You can sleep with whoever you want. You can do whatever you want. But if that’s the choice you make then this, with you and me, isn’t going to happen. Like I said, I’ve been there before. I’m not going to be someone’s second choice. If you’re looking for something quick and casual you need to look somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I want,” Jean said again. “This isn’t about trying to score a quick fuck. I like you. You’re a good person and I don’t see too many of those. I just… I want to talk to you. Get to know you, spend time with you, all that shit. That’s what I want.”

Finally Marco looked away and Jean felt himself sag a little, like he’d been pinned in place by the stare. 

“People are looking at us,” Marco murmured. “Let’s go to the car.”

Jean followed his gaze and found a small cluster of people hovering by the door, watching them. He was quick to notice that they were mostly staring at him, not Marco. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly eager to escape. “Let’s go.”

Before they could do so one of the girls broke away from the group. She took a few steps closer and said, “Are you Officer Kirschtein?”

“Corporal,” Jean corrected automatically, his voice tight. “Who’s asking?”

“I just wanted to ask about Eli,” she said. Her cellphone was clutched tightly in her hand and Jean would have bet his ruined car that it was recording the conversation. “You know, the guy you killed? We went to the same high school until I graduated last year. He was a good person. How can you walk around like this and breathe the same air as everyone else when you _killed_ him?”

Jean felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head. He was frozen, speechless, staring blankly at the young girl who glared back with a spark of rebellion flaring in bright blue eyes.

A hand clamped around his upper arm and he flinched. It was just Marco, gently prying him away from the spot and steering him toward the car. “Just let it go,” he said, the words quiet, soothing. “She’s just a kid.”

_So was Eli._

Marco said nothing else and neither did Jean. They climbed into the Metro in silence. The girl was still on the sidewalk, holding her cellphone at arm’s length, videoing the pair of them. 

They were in motion a moment later, Marco calmly navigating around the traffic although his grip appeared particularly tight around the steering wheel.

“Originally I was going to see if you wanted to catch a movie,” said Marco, “but I don’t think this is the best time after all.”

Jean didn’t know if he was referring to their argument or the girl on the sidewalk, but either way he agreed.

For the most part Jean felt that the date had been a disaster. He wanted to blame Sasha for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he knew he was the only one at fault. Maybe Marco was right. Maybe he went out of his way to make people hate him.

The only good thing that came out of the afternoon was when Marco pulled up to the door of the apartments to drop him off. Jean hesitated for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words burned a little; he didn’t use them often. 

“For what?”

“I don’t know, fucking everything. Especially that thing with Eren.”

“Eren?”

“My friend. The one I… you know.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” said Marco. “We’re not in a relationship. You can do whatever you want. I was just telling you what I’m not going to deal with if you’re interested in me at all.”

“I’m sorry anyway,” said Jean. “So are you saying we’re going to go out again or are you just being nice?”

“Do you want to?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

Marco smiled a little and it was genuine. “Then sure, we can go out again. But maybe somewhere less public to avoid that kind of attention.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“You can come over to my place,” said Marco. “I’ll make something. I’m actually a pretty decent cook.”

Jean tried not to cringe at the mention of Marco’s home. As shady as the outside was he could only imagine how awful the interior looked. 

Despite his feelings toward the housing situation he wasn’t going to turn down the offer. He was lucky Marco was still even speaking to him.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, smiling through his uncertainty. “It’s a date.”


	25. Chapter 25

On Monday morning Jean’s phone started ringing much too early. He struggled to claw his way out of the pull of sleep, slapping blindly at his nightstand until he found the phone. He answered it without opening his eyes, hoping it was Marco.

He was disappointed.

“Good morning, Jean,” said Erwin, his voice even more masculine over the phone. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I’m up,” said Jean, the thickness of his voice likely giving away the lie. 

“Excellent. I need you to come down to the PD this morning. Can you be here by eight-thirty?”

Jean forced an eyelid open and checked the time on his phone. It was eight-fifteen. His car was still out of commission and it was at least a twenty minute walk.

“Uh… maybe eight forty-five?”

“Sure, that will be fine. I’ll see you soon.”

Jean hung up and laid back, taking a moment to chase the dreams that flitted about the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t remember them, which was probably a good thing. His dreams weren’t all rainbows and fairytale princes. 

He almost fell asleep again, shook himself awake, and launched out of the bed before he could talk himself out of moving.

He’d been too groggy to ask Chief why he was being summoned but he assumed the reason wasn’t good. 

If he actually got good news for once he’d probably die from shock.

He dressed better than usual because he had more options to choose from. Over the weekend he’d carried all of his clothes down to the Laundromat on the first floor of the apartment complex and washed everything. 

It was mostly because he was tired of rewearing dirty clothes off of his bedroom floor.

And maybe a little because he wanted to have his best clothes ready for his next date with Marco.

About ten minutes after rising he was out the door, wishing he had time to grab coffee on the way there. He could just get some when he arrived at the PD. They always brewed fresh coffee in the office.

Although he was utterly unwelcome in the office as long as Sasha was there.

He picked up the pace, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked. He caught a few glances as he traveled but none of them lingered. None were suspicious. None knew what he’d done.

He arrived at the PD without incident, for which he felt both gratitude and skepticism. When he pushed through the doors Sasha’s face was the first thing he saw, peering at him from behind the bulletproof windows. She scowled and looked back at her computer screen. She reached over and slapped the button that unlocked the side door, granting Jean access to the hallway. 

At least she hadn’t made him stand in the lobby and wait.

As he stepped through he checked the time. He had five minutes to spare before the Chief was expecting him. He hesitated in the hallway, churning through an unpleasant emotional debate. One of his five minutes had passed before he made up his mind and branched off to the left, away from the stairs.

He entered the office cautiously, the same way that one would creep into a lion’s cage. Sasha was the only one inside. Krista’s desk was vacant. Jean couldn’t decide if that was good because there was no one around to overhear or bad because that also meant there was no one to stop Sasha from killing him.

He cleared his throat, trying to attract Sasha’s attention. 

She effectively ignored him.

Jean moved further into the room anyway, approaching the coffee pot that sat a few feet away from Sasha’s desk. As he poured a serving into a cheap Styrofoam cup he glanced sideways at her. She was pointedly looking at her computer screen, typing furiously. 

“Hey, Sasha,” said Jean, wishing he sounded less daunted. “How’s it going?”

Her ponytail twitched as she turned her face toward him then immediately went back to her work. “Fine.”

Jean expelled a breath. “Hey, uh, listen. About the other day… I shouldn’t have said that. I know you work in here. You made me work my ass off when I was stuck in the office. Back then I was just mad because I had to sit in here instead of being on patrol. I didn’t mean it. So… I’m sorry.”

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, fingers hovering. She turned her head, face a mask of perfect neutrality. “Are you dating Marco?”

Jean was caught off guard by the question and it took him a moment longer than it should have to respond. “No. Well, kind of. We’re not officially dating but we’re hanging out, I guess.”

“Did he tell you how he knew me?”

Jean felt like her stare was burning through his retinas. “He said you worked for Jinae police. That’s all he would tell me. He probably wouldn’t have even mentioned that if he’d known you hadn’t told anyone.”

Sasha nodded once and looked away, apparently satisfied by his answer. She started typing again but with a touch less venom than before. “Marco is one of the nicest people I know. He’s a great guy but he won’t put up with your shit, Kirschtein, so I suggest you get it together if you want to have even a ghost of a chance with him. He’s too good for you.” 

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression already.”

She paused again, eyes sliding back to Jean. “Did he tell you to come apologize to me?”

“What? No, of course not.”

She considered him for a long moment before again looking away. “Then he’s already rubbing off on you. Maybe basking in his aura will turn you into less of an asshole. Get out of my office, I have work to do.”

It was a rude farewell, but Jean considered the fact she was speaking to him at all a victory. He left without further prompting and checked the time as he ascended the stairway to the second floor. Eight forty-six. He thought the spare minute was worth it.

As usual, Chief Smith wasn’t waiting alone. Levi was a pain in the ass, but Jean would have preferred him to the current alternative.

“Jean, come in,” said Erwin, beckoning him inside. “Thank you for being here on such short notice. Pixis has a busy schedule, this is really the only time he had to meet with you today.”

Pixis lifted a gnarled hand and waved at Jean, who couldn’t bring himself to return the gesture. He couldn’t shake the bitterness he harbored from his last court date when Pixis wouldn’t even look at him. Maybe the old man had already given up on Jean as a lost cause. Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

“You’ll be spending the morning going over some details of your case with Pixis,” said Erwin. “He wants you to get some practice with your testimony and familiarize you with some questions the prosecution may ask.”

“Major is still trying to get my bodycam data,” said Jean. He didn’t want to spend time talking about his case or anything else involving the shooting. He’d kept himself from dwelling on it all weekend and didn’t want to start it back up now. “We’ll have that at court. I won’t have to testify. Besides, it’s a little soon to be preparing, right?”

“Since the trial is next Thursday, no, it isn’t too soon,” said Pixis, his unsettling smile unwavering beneath his thick frill of mustache. 

Jean almost choked. Next week. The trial was _next week_.

“Besides, I’m not expecting to get that video. Between you and me, Hanji is a few screws short of a lawnmower, if you know what I mean,” the lawyer continued. 

Jean was pretty sure that wasn’t the correct phrase. He looked to Erwin for help but the Chief had already made up his mind.

“You’ll be using one of the interrogation rooms in Investigations,” said Erwin. “Listen to what Pixis tells you. He’s been practicing longer than any lawyer in the city. Let him help you through this. It could mean the difference between acquittal and conviction.”

Jean tried to stifle his frustration. “Yes, sir.”

Chief Smith escorted the two of them to one of the two interrogation rooms located on the second floor. They had to pass the unpleasant Investigations secretary on their way through. The old crone actually mustered up a smile for Erwin. 

They walked by Armin’s office and Jean couldn’t help glancing inside. Armin was at his desk, so intent on the text he was tapping out on his phone that he didn’t even look up as their caravan rolled by.

“Here we are,” said Chief Smith. He held his ID in front of the scanner on the wall. It beeped, granting him access, and he held the door open. “Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in my office.”

“Thanks, Erwin,” said Pixis, patting the Chief congenially on the shoulder as he strode by.

Jean followed a step behind, trying to figure out why Pixis was on a first-name basis with Chief Smith.

There was a table bolted to the middle of the floor and two chairs placed on each side. The one door was the only exit. On the far side of the room, the side that Jean was facing as he sat, stretched a wide expanse of mirrored glass. Jean knew there was a tiny room on the other side where the other investigators could observe interrogations. 

He hoped there was no one in there now.

“Alright, Jean, my boy,” said Pixis. He slapped his briefcase on the table and started rifling through the clutter within. “Let’s get started.”

  
  
  
It was a long, torturous two hours. 

Pixis had a copy of Hanji’s report printed out. He went through it five times, then made Jean recite the events back to him another seven times. He asked questions about details that Jean felt were completely irrelevant. He kept pressing for more and more information, facts that Jean didn’t have, nuances that didn’t exist.

Jean stared at his empty coffee cup and tried not to imagine strangling his lawyer.

The stress of court had somewhat abated over the past week. Now it was back in full force, hitting Jean so powerfully that he was getting nauseous. He looked around for a trash can, just in case. That fucking coffee cup wasn’t going to cut it.

Pixis went back to the beginning of the report. _Again_. He asked Jean what time he was dispatched on the call. Jean opened his mouth to tell Pixis to shut the fuck up when the scanner beeped and the door opened.

“Let’s give the kid a break. He looks like his brain is about to explode.” Captain Levi leaned against the doorframe and looked at the two of them with a raised brow. 

Pixis chortled, eyes slanting closed in a wide grin. “You may be right. Good work for today, Jean. I think you’ll do just fine in court. If you have any questions give me a ring.”

The lawyer folded everything back into his briefcase, tucked it beneath his arm, and strolled out of the room like he was taking a leisurely walk in the park. 

Before Jean even moved Levi was pulling the door shut. He took the chair that Pixis vacated and stared at Jean flatly. He was in civilian clothing again, which automatically made Jean a little uncomfortable. Levi just didn’t look right out of uniform.

“You were about to bite the old man’s head off,” he said, his tone more amusement than reprimand. “Don’t really blame you. He was my lawyer ten years ago when I had to go through this same shit. He’s annoying as hell but he got me off clean.”

“Yeah,” said Jean, “he’s… wait, were you watching me?”

Levi hitched a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the mirrored window. “Thought I’d check up on you. Glad I did.”

Jean wanted to feel as if his privacy had been violated but experienced only relief that he’d been rescued from Pixis’s prying.

“He was starting to get to me a little,” Jean admitted. “Before this I was feeling a little less bitter about all this. Guess he fixed that.”

Levi sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He studied Jean closely, eyes sharp. “Listen, Kirschtein. I’m not going to say I know exactly what shit you’re dealing with because I don’t. Sure, I killed someone. I’ve sat exactly where you are. That doesn’t mean I know how you feel and I’m not going to pretend I do. What I do know is this fucking sucks. It sucks for you and for the department and for the dead kid’s family. It’s just a shitty situation. The best thing you can do is try to put all that aside and just focus on yourself. You’ve got to get out of this, Kirschtein. If the judge decides you fucked up and killed an innocent bystander you’re fucking done.”

If Captain was trying to be inspirational he was doing it wrong.

“I know,” said Jean, exasperation leaking into his voice. “You think I’m too stupid to realize that?”

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re walking into next week. It’s going to be a shitstorm. I can’t believe they brought in fucking Nanaba. She’s one bad bitch. She’d tear you apart and pick her teeth with your bones.”

Jean groaned and dropped his head onto the table, pillowing his cheek on his forearms. “Great.”

“The worst part will be when the kid’s mom gets up to testify. It’ll be more of a victim-impact statement than a testimony.”

Jean didn’t want to even think about that. “Was it this bad when you shot someone?” he asked, shifting his head slightly to look up at Levi. “I mean, like… was the person you shot… you know…”

“You mean did I kill a black kid in the middle of the street?” 

Jean winced from the bluntness of the statement but nodded.

“No. Her name was Lola.”

Jean raised his head slowly. He expected Levi to roll his eyes or make a joke, but he appeared to be serious.

“Lola Martinez,” the Captain continued. “It was a SWAT team drug raid. Her boyfriend was the guy we were after and she just happened to be at the house. Wrong place wrong time.”

Levi sighed and sank deeper into his chair, perpetual scowl deepening.

“He hid in the attic and told her to keep us out, no matter what. She didn’t know any better. She was fucking afraid of him so she just did what she was told. She had one of his guns and she started shooting at us the second we went through the door. I told her to stop. I fucking screamed at her for five minutes before I made a move. I didn’t want to do it. But the bitch wouldn’t stop until I popped a bullet in her chest.”

Jean didn’t say anything. He was entranced by the story, by the piece of Levi’s past that the Captain refused to talk about with any of the officers. That report had been sealed. No one below the rank of Captain had access.

“Turned out she didn’t speak English,” said Levi, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “That was back when I was working with my old shift. If I’d had the fucking presence of mind to tell Petra to try and talk to her in Spanish it might’ve worked. But I was in panic mode and I didn’t think. So she’s dead and I’ll never know if anything else could’ve made a difference.”

A shaky exhale was Jean’s only response.

Captain Levi rolled his eyes. “Stop looking so fucking grim. Everything was dismissed in court. Of course, nobody cared as much about her as they do about your dead kid.”

“Even if it was dismissed,” said Jean, “you never really got over it, did you?”

Levi just stared at him. “When you kill someone,” he said slowly, the words measured, “it’s not something you can just get over. But you can move the fuck on, which is what you’re going to do. So do you want my advice for court or not?”

“Sure,” said Jean. He was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown. A little more information wasn’t going to kill him. “Advise me.”

Levi snorted. “Well for one thing you need a fucking haircut. You look like a teenage hipster. And how long has it been since you shaved your goddamn face?”

“Five days. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because looking like a fucking hobo isn’t going to do you any favors. You need to look professional, like an upstanding officer. Next time you see Jaeger tell him to do the same thing. He got his subpoena yesterday. So did Mikasa, but she’s smart enough to get her shit together. They’ll both have to testify. So will I.”

Jean didn’t know if he felt better or worse that his friends were going to have to go on the stand for him. He’d known it was probable, but having it confirmed made him feel a little sick.

“Is that your only advice?” said Jean. “To make myself presentable?”

“That’s one of your priorities, not the most important.”

“Then what’s the most important?”

Levi straightened out of his slouch and leaned his elbows on the table. “While you’re on the stand you need to put your resting bitch face away and try to look like you have feelings. I know it feels like weakness to look like you regret something, but for this you’ve got to suck it up and do it. Admitting you feel bad about it doesn’t make you guilty. It means you have a fucking conscience. If they see you as a blank slate who couldn’t care less it’s not going to work in your favor. Don’t turn on the waterworks but show a little remorse. If not for the dead kid then for his family. Make yourself seem human.”

That was surprisingly good advice coming from someone like Levi who expressed emotion approximately three times per year.

“Okay,” said Jean. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“One more thing that’s maybe even more important than that,” said the Captain. “Be fucking honest. No matter what. If you lie about even one little detail Nanaba is going to tear you a new one. If they ask something you’re not sure about what do you say?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Perfect.” Levi pushed his chair back and stood, looking down at Jean until he mirrored the Captain’s actions. “You’ll be fine, Kirschtein. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone but it would’ve been worse on some of the others. You can handle it. You’re a good officer.” 

That was the last thing that Jean wanted to be complimented for but he was surprisingly comforted. “Thanks, Captain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here before Erwin comes up with something else stupid for you to do. Go home and get some rest while you can. After next week it’s back to patrol, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” Levi paused in the doorway. He turned back toward Jean, his face falling back into his typical seriousness. “You and Jaeger can fuck all week long for all I care but when you’re back on shift I expect it to stop. You know the rules, Kirschtein. Either develop better taste or request a transfer.”

Jean’s heart got caught in his throat and he almost choked on it. “No, Captain, that’s not what’s happening.”

“Save it, Kirschtein. The idiot told me about it the day after it happened in more detail than I ever cared to know. I’m actually trying not to think about it, so just say you understand so I can get the fuck away from this conversation.”

“I understand, Captain. It won’t happen again. Trust me.”

It wouldn’t happen again because Jean was going to kill Eren fucking Jaeger.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about we have a nice, happy chapter for once?

Apparently Jaeger had a bad habit of leaving his door unlocked. When Jean arrived at his condo after shelling out a hefty taxi fee he barged inside without bothering to knock.

Eren was stretched out on the couch, draped by a long, furry body. Diesel raised his head at Jean’s unexpected entrance but Jaeger was unfazed.

“Hey, did you get my text?” said Eren. He tilted his head back to view Jean upside-down. “I said I’d come pick you up. How’d you get over here anyway?”

The tirade that Jean had planned on the ride over was thrown off by Jaeger’s lack of reaction. Jean fished his phone out of his pocket. He had a message from Eren that he had failed to notice since he’d left the PD in such a fury.

_hey i have somthing 4 u call me nd ill come get u_

After taking a moment longer than necessary to decipher Jaeger’s horrendous grammar he decided to disregard the message. It wasn’t presently relevant.

“What the fuck is your problem?” snapped Jean.

“Well hey, if you don’t want the damn surprise,” said Eren with a shrug. He retrieved his phone from where it was wedged beneath Diesel and held it in the air, typing onto the screen while still upside down. “I was just trying to be nice. Sorry if that offends you.”

“You told Captain we fucked!”

Eren made a choking sound and dropped his phone. It hit him in the face before flopping onto the floor. He struggled upright and Diesel hopped off the couch, unsettled by the motion. The dog gave him a long look before clicking over to Jean, who grudgingly extended a hand to pat him on the head. 

“How did you know that?” Eren rubbed the bridge of his nose with a scowl. “I told him in secret! No one was there to overhear!”

“He fucking told me!” said Jean. “Why’d you have to run your mouth? He never would’ve known!”

“He would’ve known,” said Eren, his voice dipping into sudden solemnity. “Levi knows everything. It would’ve been worse if he’d found out on his own.”

“He wouldn’t have found out! Jesus fucking Christ, Jaeger, why do you always have to be Captain’s pet?”

“I’m not his pet! I just didn’t want us to get in trouble. Now we’re not going to, it’s fine! Since you’re technically not working with the shift right now it didn’t break any rules."

“That’s not the point! Now every time Captain looks at us he’s going to imagine us fucking!”

“He is not!”

“What else is he going to think? Oh my _god_ , Jaeger.”

“Calm the fuck down, Kirschtein. You’re overreacting.” Eren picked his phone up out of the floor, studied it to make sure there was no damage, and tossed it on the couch as he stood. “It’s not like Levi’s never fucked someone he works with.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at Eren, who threw his arms over his head and stretched until his spine popped. 

“What?”

“What?” repeated Eren. “You heard me.”

“Captain wouldn’t do that.”

“Wanna bet?”

“I didn’t think he was even interested in sex! I mean, it’s Levi,” said Jean. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, as if that would help get the point across. “He’s never mentioned… I mean, he doesn’t act like… Fuck, you know what I mean.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘asexual’,” said Eren sagely. “And you’re wrong. Point is, he’s cool with it as long as we’re not working the same shift. So if you want to give it another shot,” he said, mouth stretching into a wolfish grin, “then we’re good to go.”

Jean just stared at him. “Is that why you wanted me to come over?”

“No, idiot. I have something for you, and no, I don’t mean my dick. But, hey, if you _want_ to…”

“No,” said Jean, the word snapping so quickly that Eren’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t want… not because of you, but I just… fuck.”

“Okay…” said Eren, dragging the word into about six syllables. “You seemed to be pretty into it last time. Are you that pissed at me for telling Levi?”

“Yes, I am that pissed,” said Jean, “but that’s not why. I kind of accidentally told Marco.”

Eren’s gaze hardened. He took a cautious step forward, eyeing Jean sharply. “You told Marco _what_?”

“That we fucked,” said Jean, gesturing helplessly between them. “I didn’t mean to say it. Well, apparently it was subconscious sabotage or something, according to him, but it just slipped out.”

“You told the guy you’ve been on two dates with that you’re fucking your coworker?” said Eren, face painted with disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No, I told him I fucked my best friend,” Jean corrected. “ _One time_. I told him it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t really agree.”

“Of course it’s a big deal, you’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

“You told Levi!”

“That’s different! He’s our Captain!”

“And that makes it worse!”

“It’s not worse than telling your fucking _date_!” shouted Eren.

Their voices had escalated to the point that Diesel was becoming uncomfortable. He inched into the bedroom, only his nose and a single paw visible. Jean wanted to hide with him.

Eren must have noticed, too, because his next words were significantly calmer. “I thought you liked Marco.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. “You said he was nice.”

“I do like him. I like him a lot,” said Jean. It was difficult to try and match Jaeger’s sudden tranquility when the heat of the argument still burned beneath his skin. “That’s why I told him, I guess. I don’t know. It would’ve been worse if it had come up later.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that now since there’s not going to be a later.”

“Fuck you,” said Jean. “We’re having dinner tomorrow.”

Eren clearly didn’t believe him. 

“There’s no way he still wants to see you after that,” said Jaeger. “Are you sure he heard say that we fucked?”

“Yeah, he definitely fucking heard me.”

“Then why didn’t he tell you to fuck off?”

“I don’t know. He probably should have,” said Jean. “But since he’s actually still giving me a chance I can’t do it anymore. The sex, I mean. Between us.”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting from Eren, but it definitely wasn’t the one that he got.

“Yeah, I figured when it was my turn to top you’d bitch out. You know you can’t handle this.” Eren shrugged off the rejection like it was nothing. He knelt in the floor and made soft chirping sounds until Diesel crept back into the room and slowly padded toward him. With his arms wrapped around the dog’s thick neck he looked up at Jean, mouth curving into a grin. “So are you ready for your surprise or what?”

  
  
  
The surprise was significantly better than Eren’s dick.

“A junkyard?” said Jean, glancing at Eren skeptically as the truck slowed, the engine growling like a grizzly. “Why would we… Wait. They scrapped my fucking car.”

“We’re not going to the junkyard, idiot,” said Eren. At the end of a long, deteriorating chain-link fence he turned onto a narrow driveway that twisted back toward an old mechanic shop. There were cars crouched in the open bays, a pair of mechanics bent over the hoods of each one. “Remember the guy that worked out the deal when you bought the Mustang? Kitts, the guy with the serial killer eyes?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He owns this shop,” said Eren, pointing at the building with the hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. “The asshole owes me a few favors so I called one in.”

“Okay,” said Jean slowly, waiting for Jaeger to elaborate.

Instead Eren parked the truck and hopped out, waving briefly to the nearest set of mechanics. He stood at the front bumper of the truck and waited impatiently for Jean to join him. 

“Ready?”

“I guess,” said Jean. Jaeger started toward the end of the building and Jean followed, his spirits lifting slightly. All of the other cars appeared to just be there for engine work, but maybe the employees did body work, too. Maybe Eren had cashed in a favor and gotten Jean’s car fixed much sooner than it should have been. Maybe he was about to get his Mustang back.

Eren stopped at the corner of the scuffed wall, shoved a hand into Jean’s chest, and brought him to a halt.

“Close your eyes,” Eren ordered. 

“What? No.”

“It’s a surprise!” Jaeger leaned back just enough to see around the edge of the building. When he looked back, a smirk was painted across his face. “Come on, Kirschtein, just do it. Trust me.”

Jean suppressed his sarcastic retort and the impending eye roll and did as Eren said. A solid hand gripped his shoulder and dragged him forward. Jean stumbled over his own feet, which was acknowledged by Jaeger’s amused snort, and he was pushed to a blind stop. 

He was facing a different direction. The sun was filtered from behind him now, warming the slice of his neck that was bared between his hair line and the collar of his t-shirt. “Are you ready?” said Eren from his left. He sounded like a kid on Christmas Eve. 

“Yeah, sure, I’m ready.” 

“Okay, you can look.”

Jean opened his eyes and saw… 

Nothing.

A vacant stretch of concrete extended to the shoddy fence that encircled the junkyard. That was all. 

He turned is head toward Eren, who burst into laughter.

“You asshole.”

“Just kidding,” said Jaeger, almost choking on a chuckle. “Your face, dude. Priceless.”

He grabbed Jean’s arm and wheeled him around. Behind them was the real surprise, one that left Jean speechless.

He squinted through the sunlight that gleamed off of the fresh paint and nearly blinded him. The Mustang was as good as new. Better than new. The paint had been redone with no scratch in sight. The windows had been replaced, the tires were new, and a new decorative tag was affixed to the front of the vehicle, solid black with a single blue line slicing horizontally across the plate. It matched the blue stripe that had been painted down the length of the car, shimmering against the black paint. It was offset left of center, stretching from the nose of the car across the hood and over the cab and dipping along the trunk. 

Jean turned toward Eren, who watched him with an expectant grin.

“Thin blue line,” Jaeger stated. “Doesn’t matter if you’re not on the shift right now. You’re still one of us. You deserve it.” 

Jean felt a crushing pressure at the back of his throat, threatening to swell. He swallowed it down, pretended his eyes weren’t burning, and pulled Jaeger into a hug that stole his breath.

“Oww! Fuck, Kirschtein, back off.” The words were slightly strangled but Jean heard the warmth in them. 

He crushed Eren for a second longer before releasing him and stumbling over to his car. He skimmed his fingers over the fresh paint, hot beneath his fingers from the soaking sunlight. 

“This is badass,” he said, tracing the stripe that unevenly bisected the hood. 

“Red would’ve looked better,” said Eren with a shrug. “Red always looks better. I figured this was more your style, though. Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” He dug a set of keys out of his pocket that Jean recognized as his own. Jaeger pushed a button and the trunk popped open. He circled to the back of the Mustang, Jean trailing behind him, and levered it all the way open. “Part two of the surprise.”

There was something like a crumpled tarp taking up the entirety of the trunk space. Jean stared at it for a minute before looking to Eren, eyebrows raised.

“It’s a car cover,” said Eren, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. It’s custom made for this model. Fits perfectly. So you can leave it parked at the apartment and put this on it and not have to worry about assholes fucking with it. They won’t even know what kind of car it is. Which is especially good now that it practically has a police-friendly billboard painted on it.” Eren slammed the trunk shut. It was only then that Jean noticed his temporary tag was gone, replaced with a permanent Emergency tag that had been neatly fitted into place. Maybe Eren Jaeger wasn’t a complete moron after all.

“Jaeger…” Jean started, the words coming clumsily. “I… You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well duh.”

“Thanks. This is awesome. I owe you one… well, I owe you about fifty.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” said Eren, shrugging off the gratitude. “Like I said, I called in a favor. It’s not a big deal. Friends do this kind of shit, right?”

Jean wasn’t sure. He’d never had a friend who would do something that big for him.

“Anyway,” said Eren, circling the car, “let’s take it for a test drive. Just to make sure everything’s working right. I mean, you don’t even have to follow traffic laws.” He patted the side of the Mustang with a grin. “There’s not a cop in the whole fucking city who would pull over this bad boy.”


	27. Chapter 27

It was already dark by the time Jean pulled into the shady parking lot behind Marco’s apartment. There were quite a few spaces already full and he slipped the Mustang neatly between the Geo and a decent-looking Dodge Caravan. There was very little light illuminating the lot, which could work to Jean’s benefit because no one would notice the new paint job. Or it could provide suitable cover for anyone who wanted to peel the new paint back off.

Jean tried not to think about it too much as he stepped out of the vehicle and started toward the building, pressing the lock button a few too many times as he walked. He would’ve felt more comfortable putting the car cover on but he didn’t want Marco to see and think that Jean cared more than was necessary about his vehicle.

Marco lived in 3C. Jean folded his arms tightly across his chest and took the stairs that climbed the outside of the building. If he used the exterior door instead of the interior then he would be less likely to see the other denizens of the building. Also, he assumed that any germs from the bulk of the population would be more prone to living indoors rather than on the creaky metal staircase outside.

When he reached the third story he approached the sole door on that side of the building and knocked on it with a flutter of apprehension. 

He still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there. He was certain that he wanted to spend the evening with Marco, but a different location would have been preferred. Just standing there made him feel out of place. What if Marco’s apartment was like the ones he’d seen on patrol, with stained ceilings and dirty walls and bugs creeping around in the shadows, waiting until he wasn’t looking to scuttle across his feet? This was the right neighborhood for that unsavory stereotype. 

Jean liked Marco, but he wasn’t sure he could stay if that was the scene that awaited on the other side of the door.

Luckily he didn’t have much time to suffer amidst the sea of his own negativity. Marco pulled the door open and momentarily made Jean forget his anxiety.

“Hi,” said Marco. 

Jean wasn’t sure if the surge of warmth came from the interior of the building or from Marco’s radiant smile. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to produce a smile of his own. 

“Come on in,” said Marco, standing back to wave Jean inside.

Jean drew a last breath of clean air before stepping across the threshold, muscles tense as if prepared for a flight response.

He relaxed almost immediately.

The entire place smelled of coffee and spices and home. Candles were scattered on several flat surfaces, but they weren’t there to create a romantic atmosphere. They were in glass jars, burning scents that added to the comfort clinging to the inside of the apartment like a cumulus cloud. 

It was bright, and not just because there was plenty of light. The pictures hanging on the plain walls were bursts of color, abstract pieces in hues of orange and yellow and bronze that made the knot of anxiety in Jean’s chest unravel. The floors were scarred wood, but they were freshly scrubbed. The furniture had seen better days but it was well cared for. A small table was set with two plates that gleamed in the golden light from the kitchen.

“It’s not quite finished,” said Marco, gesturing to the pots simmering on the stove. The living room and kitchen bled into each other, creating one big space that made the apartment look larger. “Should only be a few more minutes. Do you want some coffee or something?”

Jean pulled his attention away from the apartment to focus on Marco, who was even brighter. It was his smile, a stretch of even white teeth. He was nearly dressed to match the apartment in casual khakis and an autumn orange shirt that favored his dark skin. 

It took Jean a moment too long to answer.

“Coffee’s good,” he said. He was torn between enjoying the atmosphere and silently shaming himself for expecting anything less. 

“Okay then. Make yourself at home,” said Marco, striding toward the side of the room devoted to the kitchen. 

Jean inched further inside, automatically making note of all the exits in the room. It was an unbreakable habit.

“How do you want it?” said Marco.

“Black is fine.” Jean stopped at the table, suddenly remembering he hadn’t removed his boots at the door. Marco was wearing shoes, though, so he figured it was okay. “This is a pretty nice place, considering.”

Marco glanced over his shoulder. “Considering what?”

Jean wanted to punch himself in the face.

“Oh, uh… I just mean, you know… This isn’t really the best neighborhood.”

Marco’s eyebrow arched.

“I just mean,” said Jean, backtracking, “this part of the city has a higher crime rate than others. I don’t work this zone but calls come in from around here a lot. I just mean I wasn’t expecting… fuck. I just mean you have a nice place.”

Jean’s face felt like it had been dipped in hellfire. The fact that Marco was still staring at him only made him flush more hotly.

After a moment a smile cracked Marco’s face, distorting the freckles on his cheeks with a single dimple. “It’s fine, Jean,” he said. He stepped closer and leaned across the table between them, depositing a mug of coffee in front of Jean. “I know this isn’t the ideal neighborhood. It’s just what I can afford. I have some… _responsibilities_ back in Jinae that I’m still financially tied to.”

“Right,” said Jean. He picked up the coffee just to have something to do with his hands. He didn’t really need to drink anything warm. He already felt as if his entire body was on fire. “Yeah, okay. But seriously, it really is nice. I like it.”

“Thanks,” said Marco. “I tried to make it feel like a home instead of a cheap apartment.”

He’d definitely accomplished that. If Jean hadn’t personally seen the outside of the building he would’ve believed he was somewhere else entirely. 

Marco swept over to the stove to check on the food and Jean meekly followed, peering curiously at the contents of the cookware.

“Chicken marsala,” Marco explained, tilting a lid and releasing a puff of steam. “Sounds fancy but it’s actually pretty simple. I figured that was best considering the French restaurant incident.”

Jean smiled despite his flustered state of a moment before. “Good plan.”

He stood near the stove as Marco finished the meal preparations, the two of them engaging in light conversation that came easily. When Marco declared the food finished, Jean retrieved the plates from the table and slid them onto the counter where servings of food that smelled like heaven were doled out by Marco.

A moment later the two of them were at the table, the conversation lapsing as they started on their dinner.

“Oh my god,” Jean said after a moment. “This is fantastic.”

“Thanks,” said Marco, smiling as he took a bite from his own plate. “I’ve never made it before. I’m glad it turned out okay. You can have some wine if you want. I’m just not a big fan of it myself.”

“That’s okay,” said Jean, shrugging off the offer. “I’m good.”

A few minutes later, when Jean took a large bite of deliciously sautéed mushrooms, he remembered the conversation they’d had a few days before.

“Wait,” he said. “I thought you didn’t like mushrooms.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’d you make this?”

Marco gestured with his fork. “They’re fine in a sauce. I just left the whole ones off of mine. The chicken is fine without a slug garnish.”

Jean snorted and pointedly speared a mushroom. “You could’ve made something else. Something you like better.”

“This is fine. I wanted to make sure it was something you would like. I don’t invite people over very often, I don’t want you to leave disappointed.”

“I’m definitely not disappointed.”

After dinner Marco admitted he hadn’t had adequate time to prepare dessert so they finished the meal with a few slightly stale Oreos. Jean had absolutely nothing to complain about.

“Do you want me to, like, wash something?” he said as Marco cleared the table.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put everything in the dishwasher tomorrow.”

“Okay then.” Jean checked the time. It was still fairly early. He wondered if Marco expected him to leave now, or if he wanted him to stay, or if he wanted-

“Do you want to find a movie to watch?” said Marco. “Or if you need to go that’s fine, too.”

“No, a movie is good. You can pick, I’m fine with whatever.”

They migrated to the couch and suffered through a few minutes of searching through a host of movie titles. Jean’s gut clenched each time the screen scrolled across a police film. Either Marco sensed it or he was smart enough to know it was a bad idea because he quickly clicked past each one.

They settled on a thriller that Jean had seen once before. Armin had dragged him to the theater when it was first released. It was a decent movie, but that fact that it reminded him of Armin was unpleasant. Not because of Armin himself, but because his most recent memory of him was the night the Mustang was vandalized, which was the same night that Eren had stayed at his apartment, which was the last night that Jean wanted to think about when Marco was sitting so close that he could feel his body heat.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question startled Jean, who hadn’t been aware Marco was watching him.

“Nothing,” Jean said too quickly. 

“If you want to watch something else-”

“No! No, this is fine.”

Marco watched him for another minute before resolutely pausing the movie. He adjusted his position on the couch, swiveling toward Jean.

“I know you have a lot on your mind,” said Marco. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. Sometimes you just need someone to listen. I know maybe you don’t know me well enough to share everything, but I am here for you, Jean.”

The sincerity of the statement stole Jean’s breath. There was genuine concern there. Marco actually cared, and Jean wasn’t sure why. He had no reason to. Jean had done nothing for him. Jean couldn’t offer him anything.

Eren’s solution to Jean’s problems had been to fuck them away. In retrospect that was much easier than actually talking about them.

Jean wondered if he could maybe introduce Marco to the Jaeger method.

Then he felt ashamed of himself for even thinking it.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s just not something I really want to talk about. Not because of you or anything, just in general. I actually just try not to think about it as often as possible and hope for the best.” 

He forced a grin, hoping that Marco would interpret the statement as an attempt at humor. Instead he just frowned more deeply and Jean became fixated on how dark Marco’s eyes were. They were so deep that they were nearly black, with subtle hazel striations marking the irises so faintly that they were hardly even there. If Jean hadn’t been so close to Marco’s face he wouldn’t have noticed. 

He wished he was just a little closer so Marco would stop looking at him like that.

“Okay,” Marco finally said, deflating a little as if he’d lost some internal war. “Just remember that, though. If you ever need me, anytime.”

This time Jean’s smile was real. It touched the edges of his lips briefly, fluttering out of existence as he swallowed. “Thanks, Marco.”

Marco nodded once, a slight incline of his head. Then he moved closer and pressed his lips against Jean’s, enveloping him in a warmth that made Jean’s heart stutter.

Jean leaned into it, wanted to press a hand against the side of Marco’s neck but let it fall at the last second, afraid to fracture the moment. So he just kissed him back, inhaled the earthy, warm spice scent of Marco, and melted into the arm that wrapped around his shoulders. 

A hand threaded through Jean’s hair and he finally bolstered the courage to move, sliding searching fingers along the length of Marco’s neck, inching slowly into a thick curl of hair. His other hand gripped the couch cushion, anchoring him. 

Marco’s tongue slid along Jean’s bottom lip. Jean sucked in a breath and unclenched his jaw, parting his lips and meeting Marco’s tongue with his own. 

Marco tasted just like he smelled: bright, balmy, safe. 

Jean shifted, fitting their mouths together more securely, tightening his fingers in Marco’s hair. Nails scratched lightly against his scalp and Marco twisted, pressing more closely, his hand dropping to smooth over Jean’s chest…

Somewhere across the room a phone rang so loudly that Jean nearly jumped off the couch. 

Marco sat back, wide eyes revealing his own alarm. They stared at each other for a few fleeting seconds before breaking into simultaneous laughter. 

Jean buried his face in his hands, unsure whether his amusement or embarrassment was stronger. He muffled his chuckles and watched over the back of the couch as Marco retrieved his cellphone from the kitchen counter. 

The mirth evaporated from his face, leaving behind a look of measured frustration that eased as he declined the call. 

“Everything okay?” said Jean.

“It’s fine,” said Marco. He wandered back to the couch, typing out a message with quick, forceful taps to the touchscreen. When he finished he set the phone to silent and discarded it on the coffee table. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jean. There was clearly something still gnawing at Marco, making his brow furrow. Jean liked it better when he was smiling. “You sure you’re alright? You want to talk about it?”

That comment made Marco’s mouth twitch into a less austere expression. “It’s just Mina. I told her not to check in but she doesn’t listen.”

“Oh. So you mean check in and see if you need a good reason to suddenly leave, or check in to see if I’ve kidnapped you or something?”

“The first one,” he said. “Although if I hadn’t answered she might’ve come looking for me anyway.”

Jean laughed, but it was humorless. “She really doesn’t like me, does she?”

“No,” Marco admitted, “but she doesn’t know you. She makes assumptions because of what happened. She was the one who had to pronounce Eli dead, so that’s all she can think about. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” said Jean, trying to smooth the wince away from his face. “I get it.”

“She thinks… and I don’t want to tell you this, but you deserve to know… she thinks you just want to hang out with me until your case is over. For good publicity.” When Jean continued to stare at him Marco reluctantly elaborated. “Because I’m black.”

Jean’s mouth fell open. “Are you _serious_?”

“She thinks she’s trying to help,” said Marco. He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it in disarray. “She’s my friend and she doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Holy shit,” said Jean, the words low. “That’s why you never called me after I gave you my number at the hospital. She convinced you that it was the only reason I wanted to see you.”

Marco looked at his hands rather than Jean. His face darkened slightly, the only evidence of his embarrassment. “She made me think about it,” he admitted. “I still believed you about the shooting, she couldn’t talk me out of that, but… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure why you would want to hang out with me anyway so it kind of made sense at the time.”

“Why’d you change your mind?”

Marco’s frown lifted a little, replaced by a wry smile. “I don’t know. I guess it’s your insatiable charm.”

Jean snorted, but before he could comment Marco continued.

“Or maybe because you looked so irresistible in that hospital gown. That’s probably what did it.”

“Shut up,” said Jean with a grin, kicking playfully at Marco’s feet. “I looked good in that gown. I mean, the entire ass was out of it. What’s not to like?”

“It’s nice to hang out with you here,” said Marco. “Anywhere that’s not the hospital. That’s not the best place for romantic encounters.”

Jean shrugged. “Worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You don’t think that now, do you?” said Jean, switching topics so quickly that Marco struggled to follow. “You don’t think that’s the only reason I want to go out with you?”

“Of course not.” The response was immediate, solid. “I feel bad for even considering it then. I know that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Good,” said Jean, “because it doesn’t. I like you, Marco. I’ll still like you when this court shit is over. If I end up in jail I expect you to come visit me.”

“You won’t,” said Marco. He sounded certain. 

Jean wished he could feel that confident about it.

“Thanks,” said Jean. “And thanks for telling me about Mina, too. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

“She will when she gets to know you.”

“Or that might make her dislike me even more.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Marco shifted forward and kissed him again. This time the motion was more confident, as if he’d already obtained all the permission he’d ever need. “I don’t know how anyone could dislike you.”

“Probably has to do with me being an asshole.”

“Well yeah, there’s that.”

Jean pretended to be offended, but Marco’s lips quickly put a stop to that. After a few minutes Marco sat back and reached for the remote. “We’ve already started this movie, might as well finish it.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Jean. He tried not to sound disappointed even though he could think of some much more constructive things to do with the next hour of his life. It was too soon, though. It wasn’t the right time for it, and as badly as he would’ve liked it, he accepted that it could wait.

Marco reached over and laced their fingers together, and Jean was content with the simple skin contact.

He sat through the whole movie but hardly watched any of it. For most of the film his attention and his eyes were stuck on Marco.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out ridiculously long because I couldn't decide where to split it. Sorry for that, but I hope you enjoy!

“You went over to his place and didn’t even fuck?”

Eren was so offended it was almost comical. He was sprawled backward in one of the break room chairs, arms dangling over the back. His sunglasses were pushed up into a mass of hair that was growing at a level so uncontrollable that the mirrored lenses were almost completely obscured. 

“We had dinner,” said Jean, reclining in a padded desk chair, “and watched a movie. It was nice. We just talked and shit.”

Eren forced a gagging sound and rolled his eyes so far back in his head that Jean expected to never see his pupils again.

Jean hadn’t particularly wanted to be at the PD for any reason but Eren had sent him twenty texts in the span of an hour demanding that he show up and gossip about his date from the night before. Jean was so sick of hearing his phone buzz that he gave in.

Besides, it was a good excuse to drive his car somewhere that he wouldn’t have to worry about it being destroyed. 

“Jealousy’s not a good look for you, Jeager.”

Eren snorted. “You think I’m jealous? Of what? A boring-ass night sitting on a couch that didn’t even end in sex? Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“It wasn’t a waste of time. I don’t think anything with Marco would be a waste of time.”

Eren looked like he just realized he’d stepped in dog shit.

“That’s the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re such a little bitch.”

“I’m not the one sitting around with fucking heart eyes. You’ve been out with him like twice and you’re already a fucking goner.”

“Three times,” Jean corrected. “And I am not. We’re just hanging out, it’s not serious or anything.”

“Right,” Eren scoffed. “Keep lying to yourself, Kirschtein.”

There was a distant beep as the back door was unlocked. Jean tilted his head to listen as the person entered and started down the hallway that led to the patrol room where he and Eren sat. 

The steps were too clumsy to be Mikasa, too heavy to be Annie, and not angry enough to be Levi. That left only one option.

Jean sat up a little straighter, muscles tensing as Armin scuffed into the room. He hesitated in the doorway and looked between the pair of them uncertainly.

“Hey, Arlert,” said Eren. He aimed a kick at a nearby desk chair and it rolled toward Armin. “Have a seat. You get Old Lady Harrington straightened out?”

“Oh, umm, yeah,” said Armin. He swiveled the chair around and sat awkwardly. He was obviously still adjusting to the fifteen extra pounds added by his duty belt. “She just wanted to talk about these strange lights she apparently saw in the sky last night. She thought they were aliens.”

Eren snorted. “Typical. You were only there for… what, fifteen minutes? Usually it takes half an hour _at least_ to shut her up. What’d you say to her?”

“I said if she kept asking questions the aliens would notice,” said Armin with a small grin. “I told her it wouldn’t be the first time someone disappeared after getting too interested. She pretty much kicked me out after that. I don’t think she’ll call again for a while.”

Eren laughed. Jean might have if he hadn’t been so confused.

He looked from Jaeger to Armin and back, trying to figure out what had shifted in their dynamic since the night his car was vandalized. The hostility between them had been palpable, like a dense, poison fog. Now he could sense nothing between them except companionable cooperation, something the two of them hadn’t exhibited since Armin had transferred out of patrol over a year ago.

Jean supposed it was nice they were getting along, but it was fucking _weird_.

“If you’re going to stare like that you can take a picture,” said Eren, smirking at Jean over the back of his chair he was straddling. “You can hang it on your wall for hard times.”

“Fuck that. If your ugly ass face was hanging on my wall I’d never be able to invite anyone over. They’d be terrified.”

“I don’t know,” said Eren with a shrug. “Marco might like it.”

Jean scowled at him, very aware of Armin’s presence. Since Eren and Armin suddenly seemed to be friends again then maybe Jaeger had already told him about Jean’s new dating venture. That didn’t make him any more willing to talk about it in front of him, though. It hadn’t been too long ago that Jean had ground Armin’s feelings beneath the heel of his boot. He didn’t want to make it any worse by rubbing his new semi-relationship in his face.

“Has he even been to your place yet?” said Eren, oblivious to Jean’s reluctance. “I’m guessing not since your apartment is a train wreck.”

“I cleaned it up the other day,” said Jean. “It looks fine now.”

“So he has been there?”

“…no, not yet.”

“Maybe you should invite him over,” said Eren. “You might have better luck at your own place since you struck out at his.”

“Okay, we’re not talking about this anymore,” said Jean, fighting against the blush that rose to tinge his cheeks. “Moving on.”

“Are you feeling okay about court?” said Armin, the question quiet, cautious. “It’s next week, isn’t it?”

Jean and Eren winced simultaneously.

“Fuck,” said Jean. “Okay, fine. We’ll talk about Marco.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Armin. He stood and fiddled with his belt for a moment. “I need to go talk to Major before she leaves. Are we still getting something to eat later?”

“Yeah, about an hour?” said Eren.

“That sounds fine. I’ll see you later, Jean.” Armin crossed the room and stepped through the door that branched into the bulk of the PD. Jean stared after him, baffled.

He waited a minute to make sure Armin was definitely gone before he slowly turned back toward Eren. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

“I thought you hated him being back on the shift!”

“Well it’s not the best thing that’s ever happened,” said Eren with a shrug, “but it’s not the worst, either. He’s okay I guess.”

“He’s okay,” Jean repeated, dumbfounded. “He’s _okay_? Last week you pitched a fucking bitchfit about having to work with him. You chewed his damn head off when he showed up at the apartment.”

“And then you gave me a lecture about being nice to him and that’s what I’m doing,” said Eren. “We talked and made up. We’re good now.”

“So you completely ignored him for an entire year and all of a sudden you’re _good now_.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Jean’s phone vibrated loudly in his pocket. Before he could even retrieve it Eren was rolling toward him, boots scuffing along the floor and propelling him forward.

“Is it Marco?” he demanded, his chair nudging Jean’s and shifting him a few inches to the side. “What did he say?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Jean. He shoved Eren away with his foot. He just rolled right back. “Can I have some room to breathe?”

“I want to see! I need to know what he said so I can help you.”

“Help me with what?”

“Getting laid, assface. Clearly you can’t manage by yourself.”

“Jaeger, I swear to god-”

“ _Jaeger_!” Levi’s voice cracked like a whip and both of them jumped an inch out of their seats. “Keep it in your pants, you’re on duty.”

Eren’s posture snapped ramrod straight. He pushed away from Jean, leaving a few feet between them rather than half an inch. “Captain, no, we were just talking and-”

“I don’t care,” said Levi, cutting the excuse short. He plopped into one of the available chairs and stationed himself in front of a desktop, clicking the mouse a few times more than necessary as he waited for the screen to kick on.

Jean was slightly relieved. At least Levi’s presence would stop Eren from harassing him about Marco.

He thought so, anyway.

“What did he say?” Eren’s voice was a low hiss that would have no problem carrying across the cramped room to Levi. “Read it.”

Jean looked at Levi. He’d started typing, probably working on a report. He looked completely uninterested in Jean and Eren’s conversation.

With a sigh Jean gave in and opened the message. Eren craned his head to see but Jean swiveled away from him.

“He said he’s glad I came over last night,” said Jean, smiling despite himself. “And he wants to hang out again soon. And—Give that back, Jaeger!”

Eren went wheeling across the room, Jean’s cell in hand. He scrolled through the messages with a vicious grin, laughing as Jean nearly tripped trying to stumble after him.

“Oh my god, this is adorable,” said Eren, wrenching away as Jean half tackled him. He held the phone at arm’s-length away from Jean, who clawed at his arm. “Look at this one, did you send it as soon as you left his place? _You looked nice tonight, I had a great time_ … God, you’re fucking whipped, dude.”

Jean finally snatched the phone back and shoved it into the safety of his pocket with a glare. “Fuck you.”

“Why would you want to do that when you have Marco instead?”

“Would the two of you stop acting like you’re in high school?” said Levi, not even turning to look at them. 

Eren’s expression flattened into professionalism in a split second. “Sorry, Captain.”

Levi ignored the apology and spun toward them, eyeing Jean from beneath perpetually furrowed eyebrows. “So you and the medic, huh?”

Jean wondered if Eren had already blabbed about it or if Levi had just picked it up from their conversation. “Uh, yeah. We’re hanging out and stuff. Nothing serious.”

Eren snorted but said nothing.

“Good,” said Levi simply. He turned back toward the computer and was already typing again before adding, “You and Jaeger together is just a train wreck waiting to happen.”

“You should bring Marco to hang out with us!” Eren said. Either he hadn’t taken Levi’s comment as an insult or he’d shrugged it off quickly. “We’re all going to the bar tonight. I was going to invite you and you should totally bring him, too. It’ll be fun!”

Taking Marco on a date where he would be in direct proximity to the last guy that Jean had fucked didn’t seem like the best idea.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“No, seriously,” said Eren. “He’ll get to meet your shift! I mean, he kind of knows us already, but not officially. It won’t be weird, I promise. Come on, please?”

“I’m not bringing him,” Jean said. “I don’t want Marco to see that all of you are complete idiots and assume I am, too.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong,” muttered Levi.

“Come _on_ ,” said Eren. “Just for a little while. Please, Kirschtein? Please, please, _please_?”

“Jaeger, there is no way in hell I’m asking Marco to come to the bar.”

  
  
  
A few hours later, Jean and Marco walked into the bar.

The others were already there. Jean had been in no hurry to arrive. He’d thought about avoiding it completely but Marco had already decided he wanted to stop by and meet Jean’s friends. 

Jaeger spotted them instantly, half-rising from his seat to wave them over to their table. Jean was almost there before he realized that the chair beside Eren was occupied by Armin.

He wondered what Marco would think if he just ran back outside. There was no shame in running from a situation like that.

Instead, Jean pulled out a chair and sat across the table from his last boyfriend and his most recent sex partner. He could already feel his face getting hot but just scowled and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. 

“Hey,” he said, glancing at them before resolutely avoiding all eye contact. Mikasa was there, looking smug beside Armin. Annie was also present, flanked by Reiner. Jean figured they were probably dating. It seemed that lately she was constantly dating either him or Bertholt ever since she’d been transferred off of Shift 3. “You all know Marco?”

“Hey!” said Eren a little too loudly, leaning over the table to shake Marco’s hand with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. “How’s it going? I’ve met you a few times on calls, do you remember?”

“Of course,” said Marco, smiling despite Eren’s obviously tipsy state. “Officer Jaeger, right?”

“Yes!” he said, finally releasing Marco’s hand and plopping back into his seat. “Just call me Eren, though. If you’re hanging out with Kirschtein that makes you friends with all of us, too.”

Jean looked at Marco just in time to see a flicker of recognition flit across his freckled features before his smile prevailed again. Jean had told him about sleeping with Eren. Marco must not have known exactly who that was.

“This is Armin,” said Eren, slinging an arm around Armin’s shoulders as he introduced him. “And Mikasa and Annie and Reiner. Want a drink? I’m buying. Just for you, though, Kirschtein has to buy his own shit.”

Jean rolled his eyes as Marco answered, “No thanks. I drove us here so I’m not going to drink anything. Do they have food here?”

Before Eren could launch into a detailed explanation of the menu offerings Jean tugged on Marco’s elbow and said, “Come on, let’s go up to the bar and order there.”

“Get me another round while you’re up!” shouted Eren, his voice chasing them across the room.

Jean cringed at the sound of it and slid onto a barstool with his back facing his friends, Marco quietly sitting beside him. 

Belatedly, Jean realized he was sitting in the same spot as he had the last time he was there, when Eren had followed him into the bathroom and given him a surprise blowjob.

Marco could live without hearing that story.

“Sorry,” mumbled Jean. He stretched to grab a menu from the end of the bar and slid it to Marco. “They don’t have much food. Just burgers and cheese fries and greasy bar shit.”

“That’s fine. I’m not picky.”

“Sorry about Jaeger too,” said Jean even more quietly. 

“Why?” said Marco, ignoring the menu in favor of looking at Jean. “He seems nice.”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t want this to be awkward. He said it wouldn’t be, the lying asshole.”

“It’s not awkward,” said Marco. He reached out for Jean’s hand and slipped their fingers together. Jean’s heartbeat picked up from the simple skin contact. “You said it was a one-time thing, right?”

“Right. I mean, he gave me a blowjob in the bathroom here once but that was different.” Jean squeezed his eyes closed and wished he could disappear off the face of the earth. “Fuck. I don’t know why I just said that.”

“Jean. Hey, look at me.” 

He really, really didn’t want to. He expected to see absolute disapproval, probably disgust. Instead when he pried his eyelids open Marco’s face reflected stern concern.

“That was before, right?”

“Well yeah,” said Jean. “That was weeks ago. Way before we… you know.”

“Is it going to happen again?”

“No!” said Jean. This time it was his voice that was too loud and he immediately corrected his volume. “Of course not. I told you it was an accident. Well, not really an accident, but you know what I mean. It’s over, I told him it was.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” said Marco, his grip tightening around Jean’s hand. “Apparently he took it pretty well. He’s friendlier than I expected.”

“He’s a little drunk,” said Jean. “Besides, I don’t think anyone could _not_ be friendly to you.”

“That’s not true. I got knifed, remember?”

Jean smiled a little. “Yeah, but that guy was insane.”

“So are you, but I like you anyway.”

The bartender wandered over. It was the same woman that had been working the last time Jean had been there, looking just as beautiful. Even so, she had nothing on Marco.

They ordered burgers. When the bartender stepped away to relay the order to the kitchen Marco started to stand and return to the table, but Jean pulled him back down.

“By the way,” he said, “Armin is my ex-boyfriend. We broke up a few weeks ago.” He hesitated, then added, “I broke up with him.” He felt like it needed to be clarified, so Marco wouldn’t think he was being used to make anyone jealous. 

For a moment Marco just blankly stared at him and Jean nearly panicked. Marco had taken all of Jean’s baggage in stride up to that point. Maybe this would be the thing that changed that, the thing that changed his mind.

Then a smile cracked the emotionless plaster and Jean’s anxiety vanished.

“This must be really uncomfortable for you,” he said.

Jean almost laughed. “Yeah, a little. It’s fine, though. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you are we can go, I told Jaeger I didn’t want to do this anyway and he wouldn’t shut up.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Marco. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“Well as long as you’re here with me I’m okay.”

It was potentially the cheesiest thing Jean ever said, but it made Marco smile, so he would’ve said it a hundred more times.

They migrated back to the table and sat with Jean’s shift, falling into surprisingly easy conversation. Marco’s normal demeanor was unaffected by the tense atmosphere that should have existed but was strangely absent. Of course Eren was unbothered. Jean figured there was very little that could actually affect Jaeger. His main concern beyond Marco was Armin, who had never been completely at ease in social situations in general. He was afraid that having Marco there would be rubbing salt in an open wound.

Despite Jean’s fears, Armin appeared to be okay; better than okay. He joined in on their conversation and laughed at Jaeger’s stupid jokes and exchanged quiet comments with Mikasa that resulted in secret smiles.

He seemed to be having a good time. He seemed happy, and that more than anything enabled Jean to relax and enjoy the extra time with Marco.

He was almost unwound completely, the few drinks he’d sipped on allowing him to unravel like a loose ball of yarn. Then a pair of new arrivals came bouncing in and put him back on edge.

“Marco, you’re here too!” 

It was Sasha, of course. She had a habit of popping up at the worst time, like the weekly bathroom spiders that Jean never noticed until he was naked under the shower spray, watched by eight creepy, beady eyes.

Any reservations that Sasha had expressed at the pizza parlor were gone. She skipped over to their table and threw her arms around Marco’s neck, pinning him to the back of his chair.

Jean couldn’t smell the alcohol on her, but he didn’t have to. It was obvious she was a little closer to drunk than any of them were.

“You’re choking him, Sash,” said Connie, grinning as he pried her away from Marco’s freckled throat. “Let the man breathe.”

“It’s fine,” said Marco. He stood and wrapped her in a proper hug, smile unwavering. “Good to see you again, Sasha.”

“You’re tall,” she said, craning her head back to look at him. “Maybe because I’m not wearing shoes. Connie, look how tall Marco is.”

“Yeah, he’s tall,” Connie grumbled, clearly not pleased that Marco had at least six inches of height over him. “You’re wearing shoes, Sasha. You’re not that drunk.”

“But they’re these little paper ones,” she said, stepping back from Marco to look at her feet. “See?”

They were regular ballet flats. Jean didn’t know how she’d gotten “paper” from that, but he did know she needed to lay off the liquor.

Apparently Connie had the same idea.

“How about you hang out here for a few and I’ll get you something to eat?”

“Okay!” said Sasha, beaming. “Thanks, Con. You’re the best. Someday I’ll have your babies.”

Jean looked back to Connie in interest. He’d always suspected the two of them had been involved in some sort of weird love affair. It would be nice to have some confirmation.

Unfortunately Connie took that comment in stride. “Sure, Sash. You can have all of my babies. Sit down and I’ll be right back.”

“Here,” said Marco, taking her by the shoulders and guiding her to a chair. “Why don’t you sit right here beside Jean.”

Sasha looked up at him, then at the chair, and lastly at Jean. Through her drunken state he saw her considering it, maybe engineering a reason to sit elsewhere. In the end she shrugged and plopped into the chair, reaching over to pat the top of Jean’s head. “Hey, Kirschtein. You look less awful than usual.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Well hey, at least she’s honest,” said Jaeger, grinning at the pair of them.

“Fuck you.”

Even with the addition of Sasha and Connie, things weren’t that bad. After her first order of cheese fries Sasha sobered up enough to mostly ignore Jean, as usual. All the same, it was kind of nice to be able to be relatively relaxed in public, something that Jean hadn’t done in quite a while. The bar was a safe place for him. No one would criticize him or glare at him or call him a killer. Even if someone had, he was fairly certain Jaeger would start throwing punches. Even with his police officer status, Eren had trouble turning down a good fight. He was a moron, but he was a friend. They were all friends.

Though he was reluctant to do so, Jean finally acknowledged the time.

“It’s getting kind of late,” he said, leaning close to Marco as he spoke. “You ready to go?”

“Sure, that’s fine. I’m going to go to the bathroom first, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Make sure Jaeger doesn’t follow you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He left and Jean settled back into his chair to wait, still content. He glanced over to Sasha, who was methodically eating her way through a plate of onion rings. 

“Hey, can I have one?” he said, waiting for the imminent rejection. Sasha wasn’t great at sharing.

She gave him a suspicious side-eye, a few crumbs clinging to her lower lip. Then, slowly, she nudged her plate within reach. 

Jean was almost afraid to take one. Cautiously he did, plucking a ring from the pile. As soon as he withdrew, the plate was whisked away and Sasha crunched down on another one.

“Thanks.”

Sasha mumbled something through a mouthful.

Jean looked at her for a long moment, then scanned the rest of the table. Connie had made another trip to the bar for more food, Armin and Eren were having a quiet, intense conversation that they clearly did not want to share, and Mikasa and Annie were caught up in the dramatic retelling of an arrest Reiner had made a few days before. No one was paying attention. No one was listening.

“Hey, Sasha?” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

She shrugged, which Jean accepted as an invitation.

“Why’d you leave the PD in Jinae?”

She froze mid-bite, the question clearly catching her off guard. Slowly she lowered the onion ring and looked around the table, coming to the same conclusion as Jean. No one was listening to them.

Jean had been just tipsy enough to ask the question.

Sasha was just drunk enough to answer.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she started, her voice lowered to a hissing whisper that Jean had to lean closer to hear. “No one knows about it. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Sasha eyed the others one more time before scooting her chair closer, her arm brushing against Jean’s. She suddenly seemed sober, face serious, eyebrows furrowed so deeply that she looked ten years older.

Jean almost wished he hadn’t asked.

“I had to quit,” she whispered. Her face was turned downward, hands clenched together in her lap. “I got hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Yeah… I hurt my hip on the job, and the doctor told me not to take some time off. But it was fine, I mean, I could still walk. I thought it was fine and it would get better and it wouldn’t be a big deal. So I kept working.”

She unknotted her fingers long enough to tuck some stray hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she said. “I knew they’d put me on light duty and I didn’t want to be trapped in the office. Doing anything but patrol felt like a waste.”

Jean felt a pit open up in the depths of his stomach. That was why Sasha had been so offended by his remarks about ‘office work’. That was why she’d taken it so hard.

“We got a domestic call and the guy ran as soon as he saw us. I chased him down, of course. I’m a good runner. I _was_ a good runner. But he jumped off this hill to get away and I followed him and when I landed I just…” Even in her state of slight intoxication it was clear that Sasha wanted to recoil from the memory. She didn’t want to think about it, and Jean was forcing her to do it anyway. He wanted to take the question back. “It had only been fractured, but then it just broke. My hip. They had to carry me out and the guy got away and when they found out it was an existing injury and I didn’t tell anyone…” 

She trailed off and Jean didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He could pretty much infer what had happened after that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He felt like he should do something to comfort her, but he wasn’t good at that type of thing. Reaching for her hand felt weird, and putting his arm around her would be awkward. So he just tried to sound genuine, to sound like he cared. “I’m sorry I said that shit to you in the office. I didn’t know.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m really sorry, Sasha. I’m sorry that happened, and that you got stuck in the office here, and that I’m an asshole. I’m especially sorry you’re not on patrol anymore, because I know how miserable it is to get it taken away and have to sit around and know what you’re missing. Once you work patrol nothing else is the same. It’s just not.”

She looked up at him and he was startled to see a faint sheen of tears glossing over her eyes. “Thank you, Jean,” she said, her voice cloudy. “You’re not a complete asshole after all. Only like seventy-five percent.”

“Thanks.”

She flung her arms around his neck and crushed him in a hug. Jean patted the back of her head awkwardly, aware that they now had the attention of everyone at the table. 

“You can have my onion rings,” she said, voice muffled in Jean’s shoulder. “As many as you want.”

“That’s okay, you keep them.”

She sniffled a little and sat back in her chair, freeing Jean from the iron embrace. She went back to her plate like nothing had happened, munching on onion rings and ignoring the baffled stares from every direction.

A heavy hand gripped Jean’s shoulder and he looked up to find Marco grinning at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They said their goodbyes and headed toward the door. Marco slid his fingers between Jean’s as they walked, and again after they’d branched away and climbed inside the Metro.

“I guess you and Sasha made up,” he said, struggling to fit the key into the ignition with his left hand. Jean didn’t offer to let go of his right to make the process easier.

“Yeah, I guess. She told me about Jinae. They made her resign because she didn’t tell them about the fracture, right? Because she hurt herself even worse.”

Marco finally managed to get the key in the correct position but didn’t turn it. He sat back and looked at Jean.

“Everyone thought she was overreacting when she had to quit,” said Marco quietly. “She was completely distraught and they thought she was making a big deal out of nothing because it was just a job. I’m never been an officer, but I can tell you from my experience as a medic that it’s not just a job. Most people don’t understand. Once you’ve been out there and you see the kinds of things that everyone else tries to ignore, things that they want to pretend don’t really happen in their city, you can’t just give it up and be okay. It’s like a _need_. You _have_ to be out there, you _have_ to help the people who can’t help themselves. It’s not just a job. It’s life.”

Jean swallowed thickly and tried not to acknowledge how painfully accurate that depiction was. Since he’d been kicked off patrol he felt inadequate, wasteful, _useless_.

“Why’d she want to work in the PD office then?” he wondered aloud. “You’d think that’d just make it worse, having to look at officers all day.”

“I don’t know,” said Marco. “Maybe she just didn’t know what else to do.”

Jean sighed as Marco withdrew his hand and started the car. The engine growled, sputtered, and finally grumbled to life. Jean glanced sideways at Marco, who stared resolutely forward.

“It’s fine,” he said, disregarding Jean’s palpable skepticism. “The engine has been missing a little but it’s not a big deal. It’s running fine.”

“Yeah, it sounds extremely healthy.”

Marco chose not to respond. 

He drove the short distance between the bar and Jean’s apartment in silence. Jean stared out the window, the names of each passing street automatically registering in his head. If he allowed himself he could recall at least a dozen incidents that had happened on each street during his career. He didn’t allow himself.

When Marco pulled into the parking lot he steered toward the front of the building, intending to drop Jean off at the door. 

“No, just park,” said Jean, fracturing the silence that clouded the car. “Over there.”

Marco obeyed, sliding the Metro in beside a vehicle concealed by a dark car cover. Jean peered at the meticulously tucked corners of the cover, confirming that it hadn’t been disturbed.

“Is something wrong?” said Marco as he shifted into park, misinterpreting the reason for Jean’s request.

“No, of course not,” said Jean, tearing his eyes away from the Charger to focus on Marco. “I just think you should stay here tonight.”

Marco’s eyebrows rose. “Well that’s a little forward.”

Jean’s face burst into an instant flush. “I don’t mean like that,” he said. He rolled his eyes, trying to shrug off the insinuation. “I mean it’s two o’clock on a Friday night and there are drunk idiots driving all over the damn city. Your place is kind of far and I don’t want you to get in an accident or anything. You can crash here for the night. It’s a lot safer.”

“So this isn’t just your way of trying to get me up to your apartment so you can take advantage of me?”

Marco was smiling so Jean assumed he wasn’t actually suspicious of Jean’s motives.

“Of course not,” said Jean. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want you to feel like your innocence is at risk.”

Marco snorted, still grinning. “Well okay then, as long as my virtue is preserved.”

The Metro coughed as the engine was cut off and the two of them exited the vehicle. Jean suppressed a grin as they walked to the front of the building, trying not to feel triumphant. Marco was staying over at his place, which was a victory. But he’d already promised himself that he wasn’t going to make a move; not yet. He didn’t want to make it weird. He didn’t want to ruin it.

Jean wasn’t a patient man, but he would wait. Marco had already thought Jean was trying to use him once and Jean refused to allow him to think that again. Jean could wait for this. He could wait for Marco.

When Jean had said he’d tidied up his apartment, he hadn’t been joking. It was the cleanest he’d seen it since the day he’d moved in. There weren’t even any clothes lying in the bedroom floor, which was a first. Everything had been relocated to the closet where it belonged. If there was a knee-deep heap of t-shirts behind the closed closet doors, well, Marco never had to know. 

“It’s not as nice as your place,” said Jean, glancing self-consciously at the empty walls and sparse furniture. “I haven’t put a lot of time into it.”

“At least it’s in a good neighborhood.”

Jean blinked up at him and realized Marco was joking.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, suppressing a grin. 

He pointed out the bathroom and let Marco use it first, despite Jean’s suspicion that his bladder would burst at any moment. As soon as he was finished Jean slithered in, shut the door, and peed for two solid minutes. 

He washed his hands, slid wet fingers through his hair, and stared at himself in the mirror. Inviting Marco over had seemed like a great idea twenty minutes before. Now he was realizing just how uncomfortable this situation could be. He wanted nothing more than to go into the next room and nail Marco into the mattress. That was the typical routine when bringing someone home. He’d acted out that script before. This one was new, and he didn’t know how to read it.

After a few minutes of overanalyzing the circumstances he took a breath and left the safety of the bathroom. 

Marco had already turned down the neatly made bed and was sitting on the edge, toes curled in the carpet, wearing only his undershirt and boxers.

Jean’s resolve started to splinter.

“Hey, toss me one of the pillows,” he said, not advancing further into the room. 

Marco looked up from his phone. “Why?”

“I don’t have any on the couch.”

Marco’s eyebrows rose. He placed his cell on the nightstand without looking away from Jean. “You were serious about the couch?”

“Uh, yeah?”

His mouth twitched into a soft smile, his freckles nearly invisible against his dark skin in the low light of the bedroom. “Come here.”

Jean did as he was told, padding silently across the room on socked feet. When he was close enough Marco reached for his hands and pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft, warm, and not nearly long enough.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” said Marco. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But I told you I- oh shit!”

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s waist and yanked him onto the bed. They crashed in a tangle of limbs and Marco’s deep laughter and a mouthful of pillow that Jean rolled away from. 

Jean grinned; he couldn’t help it. The sound of Marco laughing was infectious.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I just invited you over to fuck.”

“Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

Marco was sprawled on his back, arms folded behind his head, a picture of complete relaxation.

“No, not really.”

“Then don’t worry about it. There’s room for both of us.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

“Okay then.” If Marco wanted to share a bed with him then Jean wasn’t going to argue. He awkwardly slipped out of his jeans and kicked them into the floor, trying not to be self-conscious about his pale, skinny legs. They looked frail in comparison to the dark, muscular pair that he was trying his damnedest not to stare at. 

He stripped down to his undershirt, tossed his button-up over the edge of the bed, and crawled to the end of the mattress to reach for the light switch. As soon as the darkness descended Marco’s arms were around his waist, gently pulling him back down. 

Marco’s hands searched for his face, warm fingers smoothing along Jean’s cheekbone before hot lips pressed against his own. Jean melted into the kiss, working his mouth against Marco’s, sliding his hand over a bicep and onto a strong shoulder before burying his fingers into a thick nest of hair.

Marco sighed a little, wrapping an arm around Jean’s lower back and pulling him closer. Their legs tangled together, skin sliding against skin, and Jean tried to keep himself angled so that his hard-on wouldn’t press against Marco and reveal just how much a simple make out session was affecting him. He tried to think about something else but found it impossible when Marco was the only thing he could feel or smell or taste.

There was a slide of tongue and a last, lingering kiss before Marco pulled back. They were still only an inch apart, breathing in one another’s exhales.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” said Marco in a raspy whisper.

“Anytime,” said Jean, “the door is always open. Literally. Some asshole broke it about a week ago.”

Marco chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made Jean shudder.

Jean rolled over to face the wall, figuring it was safer for him to lie in that direction. Marco scooted closer, draped an arm over Jean’s waist, and nuzzled into his mess of hair. Jean relaxed beneath his touch, lacing his fingers with Marco’s and letting his eyes fall closed.

“Goodnight, Marco.”

“Goodnight, Jean,” Marco returned, shifting to press a light kiss against Jean’s ear. “See you in the morning.”

Jean had never been so eager to wake up.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the equivalent of story time.

When Jean gradually drifted into consciousness, the first thing he remembered was falling asleep surrounded by Marco’s warmth. He smiled a little, basking in the recollection. He wondered if they would kiss again before they got out of bed. He wondered if they would have breakfast together before Marco left. He wondered if maybe Marco would invite Jean to stay over at his apartment sometime.

Then he rolled over and wondered why he was alone.

Jean sat up and looked around, suddenly disoriented. Morning light filtered in through the window, but it was dim, which meant it was fairly early. He reached for his phone to check the time and realized he’d left it in the pocket of his jeans that were now discarded on the floor. He scrambled toward the edge of the bed and reached for them, pausing in mid-stretch when he realized Marco’s clothes were still there, folded in a neat stack by the foot of the bed.

Jean sat up, the time forgotten. The bathroom door was half-closed but the light was off, the room clearly uninhabited. 

Jean tried to fight the flare of panic curling in his chest like smoke. There was nothing to be anxious about. He didn’t know that anything was wrong. There was no indication that anything was wrong.

But Jean had a feeling, and his feelings were usually right.

He slipped out of bed and stepped quietly toward the bedroom door. It was barely cracked, and when he was close enough he could hear Marco’s quiet voice filtering through, the tone making Jean even more tense.

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” said Marco, his voice empty. It had been drained of the humor and warmth and kindness that typically wrapped his words. “So there’s no chance that she… Right. Well I don’t live in town anymore, it will take me a couple of hours to get there. Will you call me if anything changes? …Thank you, I’ll be there soon.”

Heavy footsteps started back toward the bedroom. Jean backed away from the door just before it was pushed open. Marco paused on the threshold when he found Jean staring at him.

Jean had intended to ask if Marco was okay, but the question was pointless. It was obvious from Marco’s face that he was far from okay.

“What’s wrong?” Jean asked instead, shuffling back a little more so Marco could enter the room.

Marco swallowed and averted his eyes before answering. “My mom.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jean didn’t want to pry, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is she alright?”

“She hasn’t been alright in a long time,” said Marco, “but they think this is it. I have to go, I need to be there before… Well, I have to go.”

“To Jinae,” said Jean, watching as Marco stepped past and retrieved his clothes from the floor. “You’re going there now?”

“Yeah, I’m going now,” said Marco. He sat on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into his jeans. “I’m off work today and tomorrow. I don’t know what I’ll do after that. I don’t have any sick time built up since I’m new. I think they’ll work with me, though, considering. But maybe I’ll be back by then. I don’t know how long it’ll take, I mean, it’s been years, but they said this time…”

He trailed off before he started rambling, standing to yank up his pants and zip them up. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shrugging into the button-up he’d worn the night before. “I didn’t want to leave like this, I just-”

“Stop it,” said Jean. “Don’t apologize for that. I’m just worried about you driving that far right now. It’s not safe to drive when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” said Marco. He paused, reconsidered, and corrected himself. “I’m a little apprehensive, I guess, but it’s not like this is a surprise. She’s been in bad shape for a while. The reason I moved is because she didn’t recognize me anymore. Every time I went to visit her she’d have a panic attack because she thought I was a stranger who was going to rob her or something. She recognizes my sisters most of the time. They visit her a lot.”

Jean’s stomach dropped. His mother had died a long time ago, and it had been hard to deal with, but there had never been a day in his life that she had looked at him and not known he was her son. 

Up until then Marco hadn’t shown it, but he must have been in pain.

Jean wanted to fix it.

“Can I do anything?” said Jean, standing helplessly as Marco prepared to leave. 

“No, don’t worry about it.”

Jean chewed on his lip as Marco finished buttoning his shirt and smoothed down the collar. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, but didn’t have the obvious look of a morning-after. Jean would have offered him some of his own clothes to take with him but he didn’t think they would fit. 

He could offer something better, though. He crouched on the floor and started digging through the pockets of his discarded jeans. He found his wallet, his phone, and… “Here,” he said. He wrestled with his keyring for a second before standing upright and offering a single key.

Marco just stared at it. “What’s that?”

“It’s for the Mustang,” said Jean. When Marco didn’t move he stepped forward and pressed it into his palm. “That Geo is a fucking wreck. That thing probably wouldn’t get you back to your apartment. There’s no way it’s going to make it to Jinae.”

Marco held the key slightly in front of him, balanced in his open hand. He stared at it as if he expected it to bite him.

“Take it back,” he said, extending his arm. “I can’t drive your car, Jean.”

“Sure you can,” said Jean, taking a step back. “It’s got a full tank. You won’t even have to stop. Insurance and registration is in the glove compartment. Just shove the car cover in the trunk and you’ll be good to go.”

“But it’s your car,” said Marco, staring blankly at him. “You’re in love with that car. You can’t be serious. I mean, I don’t even know when I’m coming back. It might be days, or a week or more.”

Jean shrugged. “I just got it like two weeks ago. It’s not like I can’t live without a car.”

Marco shook his head and tried to offer Jean the key. He just backed away again.

“I can’t, Jean.”

“Sure you can.”

“What if I wreck it?”

“Didn’t you hear the part about insurance?” said Jean. “Full coverage. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jean-”

“Marco, please,” said Jean, his voice shaded with steel. “No offense, but your car is shit. It’s going to break down halfway there and you’ll be stranded. I don’t want to sit around and worry that you didn’t make it to Jinae and some freak stopped to give you a ride and murdered you and dumped your body in the woods. Just take the damn car. The longer you stand here and argue about it the longer it is until you can see your mom.”

Marco’s extended hand fell limply to his side. His face was slightly crumpled, shadowed by defeat, and Jean thought he’d said something wrong.

Then Marco was on him, throwing his arms around Jean’s thin frame in an embrace that nearly swept him off his feet; literally. 

“Thank you,” Marco murmured against the side of Jean’s head, his lips pressed into tawny blond hair. “I don’t know what to say, just… thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jean mumbled back, allowing himself to bask in Marco’s warmth one last time before he pulled away. “Just be careful. And yeah, I have insurance, but seriously don’t wreck my car.”

That pulled a smile onto Marco’s face that slightly eased Jean’s anxiety. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “I promise.”

“I trust you,” said Jean. “Go on, be safe. Let me know when you get there, okay? If you need anything just call me, anytime.”

“Thank you, Jean. I… _thank you_.”

Jean walked him out of the apartment, watched him hustle down the hallway, and then returned to his bedroom to watch him from the window. Marco struggled with the car cover for a minute before wrestling it free. He stuffed it into the trunk like it was a dead body. The Mustang’s brake lights winked at him from the edge of the lot just before it pulled onto the street and vanished into the cold light of sunrise.

Jean was apprehensive, and at first he thought he was worried about his car. After sorting through his feelings for a few minutes he realized he wasn’t concerned with the Mustang at all. Like he’d told Marco, he trusted him. It was Marco himself that Jean was worried about.

Jean grabbed his phone and collapsed back onto the bed, ignoring Jaeger’s repetitive drunken texts that were all a variant of “ _get sum_??”

He tapped Marco’s name and stared at the screen, debating whether he should text him or not. He’d pretty much said everything he’d wanted already but he felt like sending some sort of encouragement, something to make sure Marco knew Jean was there for him.

In the end he settled on a quick, simple message.

_Drive safe. Like I said, call me for anything._

He sent it and tossed the phone aside before he could add anything else. He didn’t wait for a response. Marco was driving, after all. He didn’t seem stupid enough to text and drive.

Maybe he wouldn’t even check it until he reached Jinae, and that was fine, too. He would be reminded that Jean was thinking of him, that he cared.

Because he did, perhaps more than he should have.

  
  
  
It was two and a half hours later when Jean’s phone rang. He’d transitioned to the couch to watch the Game Show Network and had been staring at Jeopardy so intently that the call made him jump. 

He answered it without hesitating, fumbling for the remote to mute the television as he answered.

“Marco?”

“Hey, Jean.” He sounded tired, like it had been a sleepless week since he was in Jean’s apartment rather than a couple of hours. “I’m here.”

“How is she?” said Jean, though he already had a general idea.

“Not good. About what I expected. She’s not awake right now. The doctors think she might be slipping into a coma but they’re not sure. I was hoping she’d be conscious when I got here. So she could see me, just in case she remembered me this time.”

Jean’s heart sank. This wasn’t a good conversation to have over the phone. He sucked with words. He’d rather hold Marco’s hand or put an arm around him or just _be there_. 

“Maybe she’ll wake up,” said Jean, though he felt the words were hollow. “Maybe they’re wrong.”

“She might,” said Marco, though his words were hollow, too. “With the way my sisters are arguing I don’t know how she’s still out. It’s enough to wake a corpse.”

Jean smiled a little but it faded quickly. “You need anything?”

“No, it’s just waiting now. You haven’t even asked about your car.”

“I was asking about the important stuff first.”

Marco paused. When he spoke his voice was softer, more like himself. “No accidents. Not a scratch on it.”

“I wasn’t worried,” said Jean. “I remember when we talked about driving history. You said you’ve never had a wreck. Just keep it that way while you have my car, alright?”

“Of course, Corporal.” There was a touch of humor in his voice, but then he heaved a sigh and it vanished. “I need to go, my sisters are staring at me. I remembered halfway here I didn’t even leave you the key to the Geo. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have driven that thing in public anyway. Good luck, let me know if anything changes.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jean.”

“Stop thanking me. Bye, Marco.”

“Bye.”

The call ended and Jean stared at his phone for a long moment, forgetting all about Jeopardy. He should have offered to go to Jinae with Marco, for moral support. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything anyway. 

That might have been crossing the line a little, though. He and Marco had only been out a few times. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t like they were dating, no matter how much Jean felt like they should be. 

Someone knocked on the door, which obligingly swung inward from the contact. Jean had forgotten to lock the fucking deadbolt.

Jaeger stood framed in the doorway, staring at Jean skeptically.

“Really, Kirschtein?”

“You’re the one who broke it, asshole. In case you forgot.”

Eren rolled his eyes and stepped inside, bolting the door shut behind him.

“Come on in,” said Jean, his sarcasm dripping like acid. “Don’t wait for an invitation, just make yourself at home.”

Eren ignored the jab. He shrugged a backpack off his shoulder and gently placed it at the end of the couch before plopping down beside Jean.

“Heard from your boy yet?” he said.

“He just called,” said Jean. “He’s there with his family. It’s not looking good.”

Jaeger made a sound of acknowledgement but said nothing more.

Jean had sent him a quick text about an hour before informing him of the Marco situation so he would refrain from sending sexually suggestive messages about their night together. Apparently that had been interpreted as an invitation to Jean’s apartment.

“Didn’t see your car in the lot,” said Eren. “Someone steal it?”

“I let Marco take it to Jinae. His car is shit.”

Eren’s stare was utterly baffled.

“What?” said Jean, automatically defensive.

“Dude, you’ve got it bad. As much as you love that car I never thought you’d love a guy more.”

Jean sputtered dumbly for a moment before managing to spit, “I didn’t- He needed to- I don’t _love_ him, Jaeger, what the fuck?”

Eren shrugged and stretched across Jean to seize the remote. He unmated the TV and started flipping through channels, ignoring Jean’s outrage. “If you don’t now you’re on the fucking fast track. You probably wouldn’t even let me borrow the car and I’m your best friend.”

“Of course I wouldn’t, you’re the most irresponsible asshole I’ve ever met. You noticed the front fucking door, right?”

“It’s fine, I get it,” said Eren. “Marco’s a nice guy. Too nice for you, but whatever. If he’s willing to lower his standards then good for you. Maybe someday he’ll even fuck you.”

“Jaeger, you motherfucking-”

“I’m kidding,” said Eren, swatting at Jean’s outstretched arm with the remote. “Take a joke, Kirschtein. Although while we’re on the subject, _I_ got some pretty good action last night. Want to hear about it?”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s a good story.”

“Keep it to yourself, Jaeger. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me.”

“It’s only eleven-thirty,” said Jean. “Shouldn’t you still be hunched over a toilet somewhere?”

“Nah, I got that out of my system hours ago. I’m good as new.”

“Wonderful.”

“How long’s your not-lover going to be gone?”

Jean chose to ignore the subtle insult. “I don’t know. Until his mom improves or passes, I guess. He doesn’t sound very optimistic.”

“Well if you get lonely at night just give me a call,” said Eren. “We’re not fucking, but apparently you’re not doing that with him anyway so you won’t even know the difference. Ow, fuck!” He curled up and clutched his leg where Jean had kicked him. “I’m joking!”

“Why are you even here?”

“Just checking up on you,” said Eren, rubbing his calf with a scowl. “You have court in a few days and your support system just left the city. Just trying to be a friend here. Apparently my reward for that is abuse.”

“Stop being so dramatic, I barely even tapped you.”

“You hit like a bitch but you kick like a fucking mule.”

“That was the most hillbilly thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, when you grow up in a redneck town where cooking meth is a reasonable career choice you tend to pick up some of the lingo.” Eren rubbed his knuckles over his leg one last time before standing and snatching his backpack out of the floor. “I brought the Xbox, thought we could maybe play some games since you have no life.”

“Apparently you don’t either if you’re hanging out here.”

Eren ignored the comment and carried his bag over to the television, carefully extracting the gaming system and a long string of cables. 

Jean watched absently as he started plugging in the console, his thoughts still stuck on Eren’s ‘cooking meth’ comment. It reminded him again that Eren had a not-so-sunny history, too. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one in the room who’d killed someone.

“Hey, Jaeger?”

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing,” said Eren, fiddling with the cables as he plugged them into the back of the television.

“Your dad used to make meth, right?”

Eren stopped what he was doing to stare at Jean. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just asking,” said Jean with a shrug. “I’ve heard that had something to do with what happened. You know, that… thing.”

Eren finished connecting the cables and stepped back from the TV, brushing himself off with a sigh. “We’re friends, you idiot. If you want to hear the story then just ask.”

Jean couldn’t turn down the invitation. “What happened?”

For a moment Eren frowned down at the floor. Then he turned on his heel and started toward the kitchen. “If I’m going to talk about killing people I need a beer.”

“You’re still hungover from last night.”

“I’m fine,” he said, loudly claiming a can from the fridge. “Even if I wasn’t, hair of the dog, right?” He cracked it open and returned to the couch. He sat cross-legged, facing Jean, sipping beer beneath heavy brows. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What do you want to know?” When Jean didn’t immediately answer, Eren added, “Yeah, my dad used to cook meth. He was Walter White before it was cool.”

“Did your mom…?”

“She was dead already,” said Eren with a shrug. “He didn’t start doing it until I was about twelve.”

“So how old were you when you…?”

Eren rolled his eyes at Jean’s half-questions. “Fifteen.”

Jean nodded and eyed the beer in Eren’s hand, wondering if he should get one of his own.

“You suck at interrogating,” said Eren. “Maybe you should get Armin to give you some tips.”

“I’m not interrogating you.”

“Obviously.”

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it-”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” said Eren, shrugging as if it truly was a small issue. “It doesn’t bother me. Just tell me what you want to know about it.”

He seemed serious. Jean wondered how he could be so flippant about killing someone. 

“What did your dad have to do with it?”

“He used to be a doctor,” said Eren, tipping back another sip of beer. “He got fired for selling prescriptions to people who didn’t need them. The hospital just kicked him out; didn’t press charges. My mom had just died. They thought he was just having a hard time.” Eren rolled his eyes. “So then he started making meth. I guess he made good money from it. I don’t really know. I knew what he was doing in the shed but that was it. I didn’t know who he sold it to or anything like that.”

He was surprised that Eren had known anything about it at all. Jean had always been completely unaware of his own father’s indiscretions up until the point he’d discovered that he was incarcerated.

“So some sketchy backwoods hicks found out he was dealing and wanted some cash,” said Eren. “They decided to grab me for leverage and demand money to get me back. So they snatched me up when I was walking home from school. Mikasa lived next door so they grabbed her, too. It was convenient.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Nah, they didn’t have to. I was scrawny as a kid. They picked me up and tossed me in the car and drove away.”

Jean couldn’t picture Eren as _scrawny_ at any point in his life.

“So they took us out to this shitty trailer and locked us in the closet while they figured out how to make a hostage note. They were fucking morons, so high they couldn’t think straight. It took them an hour to decide how much money to ask for. You’d think they would’ve decided that before grabbing a kid off the sidewalk.”

He told the story like it was something he’d read, not something he’d experienced. He didn’t seem emotionally invested.

“It was fine at first. We were just chilling in this cramped up closet that smelled like ass. Then one of them remembered that the girl they’d grabbed had been kind of pretty and he wanted to see if she looked better with her clothes off.”

Eren’s grip tightened slightly on his can. The aluminum dented in the shape of his fingers.

There was the emotion that Jean had expected; a flash of anger, rage that roiled just beneath the surface like a pit of snakes. 

“We heard them talking about it, so we were ready. As soon as they unlocked the door I jumped out. I caught them by surprise. I wasn’t running for the door, either, so that threw them off a little. I’d seen a shotgun when they’d dragged us in, sitting in the back corner of the room. So I ran for it and got it and shot. The fucking thing wasn’t loaded.”

He laughed a little, mouth curving into a bitter smile that was more like a grimace. 

“They forgot about Mikasa. They came at me, thought it was funny. So I started swinging with the shotgun, knocked the shit out of the first guy. He went down and I kept hitting him. Bashed the fucker’s head in. The next one got it away from me and hit me with it. I hit the wall and he hit me again and Mikasa…”

He trailed off, his faraway look snapping back into the present. He scowled at his beer, sloshing it idly in the can. 

“Then I jumped at him and managed to get him on the ground.” This time Eren’s tone was different, somewhat off. “I got the shotgun away from him and beat him with it. The other guys ran off. The cops caught them later, though. I was so fucking relieved when I saw it on the news. That was when I decided I wanted to be a cop. Then, and when they came and dragged my dad out of his meth lab and let me live with Mikasa’s normal family.”

With the conclusion of his story he chugged the rest of his beer. He crushed the can and stood to carry it to the kitchen and toss it in the garbage. When he returned he dug a pair of gaming controllers out of the backpack and handed one to Jean before settling back onto his end of the couch.

Jean stared at the controller in his hand, mulling over Eren’s story. The last part hadn’t sounded quite as authentic as the rest. If a grown man had pinned him against the wall it didn’t seem logical that a scrawny fifteen-year-old could regain the upper hand alone. He’d been on the verge of saying something about Mikasa, maybe she had-

“What do you want to play?” said Eren, snapping Jean out of his speculations. “I could kick your ass at some Call of Duty.”

Just the thought of running around shooting people, virtually or not, made Jean a little nauseous.

Eren must have noticed.

“Or we could play Dirt, or Need for Speed,” Eren said, quickly scrolling to a different option on the screen. “I know I’m a better driver than you.”

“I doubt that, asshole,” said Jean, the insult empty. 

He was glad that Eren had come over. It was a nice distraction now that he had Marco’s mother on his mind and a looming court date creeping up on him. It was so close now that he could feel its breath on the back of his neck, like the breath of a corpse.

He had thought that maybe Eren’s story would make him feel better. He’d believed the firsthand account of another killer would ease his anxiety. 

But it made him feel worse.

Eren had no reservations whatsoever concerning his actions. He’d decided the killing was justified and moved on. Eren wasn’t harboring any doubts. He didn’t feel any guilt crawling through his veins like venom.

Eren didn’t wonder if he’d done the right thing. 

Five days. Jean would be on the stand in five days, his testimony dictating the course of the rest of his life.

Jean felt sick.

He wondered if Marco would visit him in prison.


	30. Chapter 30

The next five days slipped away like sand through Jean’s shaking fingers.

Marco was still in Jinae. Nanaba was back in Trost. And Jean was still in his apartment, staring at the wall and avoiding his phone calls and wondering what would happen if he decided to never go outside again.

He would probably be dragged out. In handcuffs.

Eren had stopped by every day to make sure he was still alive. That had been the only human contact Jean had experienced aside from Marco’s infrequent texts and the single phone call he’d received from him the day before. 

Jean imagined that if Marco hadn’t left maybe he would feel okay. Being around Marco was comforting. When he was in a close proximity Jean could pretend things weren’t falling apart. He could pretend that _he_ wasn’t falling apart.

He looked out the window more than he should have, checking the status of the undisturbed Geo Metro in the parking lot. It looked forlorn, abandoned. Jean had tried to go sit in it the day before but the doors were locked, so he crawled back into his bed, turned the police radio on, and remained stagnant.

The next time he looked at his phone he saw it was noon on Monday and he had a barrage of texts from Jaeger.

He only read the most recent one, sent about twenty minutes before.

_the fuck r u doing? get ur ass 2 the pd NOW b4 i cum get u_

It was today.

Court was today and Jean was still lying in bed.

His stomach lurched and he paused halfway out of bed, one foot brushing the floor. It took a moment for him to decide if he was going to vomit or not. When he felt that his nausea wasn’t going to get the best of him he staggered over to the closet and started searching for his suit.

Morning session at court started at nine a.m. Luckily Jean’s case had been scheduled for the afternoon session at one-thirty, so he still had enough time to pull himself together and get to the courthouse before they issued a capias in his absence.

He couldn’t let that happen. Nanaba would be far too pleased.

And it would make him look far too guilty.

Half an hour later he was suited up, clad all in black except for the white dress shirt that peeked out of his blazer. Typically his hair was a lost cause but he managed to tame it into relative respectability.

The mirror reflected a man who looked put together, a man who was professional and confident and guiltless.

The gnashing nerves beneath his façade echoed none of that.

His phone started ringing while he stared in the mirror, trying to devise a way to rid himself of the perpetual dark rings beneath his eyes. He figured it just a harassing phone call from Eren and intended to ignore it, but the name that flashed across the screen made him pause.

Cautiously he answered and pressed the cell again his ear with a quiet, “Hello?”

“Hi, Jean,” said Armin, his voice hesitant. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re probably getting ready.”

“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

“Well, see… I was just wondering about court today. I intended to go, but I was thinking about it and I realized it might make you uncomfortable if I’m there, considering, so I was going to make sure before I did. Because you’re going to be uncomfortable enough, I don’t want to make it any worse, and-”

“Armin,” said Jean, cutting off the nervous ramble. “It’s fine. It’s not going to bother me.”

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”

“Do you really think I’d say that if it wasn’t true?”

“No, I guess not. Hey, do you need a ride? Eren said you don’t have your car right now. I’m on my way to the PD, apparently everyone that got subpoenaed for the trial was meeting up there.”

A week ago Jean would have been reluctant to accept anything from Armin, even a harmless car ride. Now he was just grateful that he wouldn’t have to walk to the PD in his suit.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

A few minutes later Jean climbed into the Sentra, trying to ignore the dredges of nostalgia that accompanied his entry into the vehicle. 

“You look nice,” said Armin, offering Jean a tentative smile.

“Thanks, so do you. I always liked that gray suit.”

Armin murmured his quiet gratitude and wheeled the car out of the parking lot. There were halfway there before he spoke again, his voice low in the silent car.

“How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” said Jean, pulling his gaze away from the window to view Armin. “I might puke.”

He expected a smile or a nervous laugh, but Armin remained solemn.

“I know this has been hard for you,” he said, “but you really are a good officer. Judge Zackley knows that. It doesn’t matter what Nanaba tries to throw at you. You know protocol. You know how to do your job. Most importantly, you know how to do the right thing.”

Jean swallowed hard and looked away. They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip, which was actually preferred to the burst of noise that greeted Jean as soon as they stepped into the lobby of the PD.

“There you fucking are,” said Jaeger, stomping toward them. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Jean checked the time. It wasn’t quite one yet and the courthouse was a five minute drive from the PD. Jaeger was being a little dramatic.

“I have plenty of time.”

“Not if we want to beat the damn protesters,” snapped Eren. “As if it matters now, they’re probably already fucking there.”

An ice pick jolted into Jean’s chest. He’d forgotten about the wall of people that had waited on him before, with eyes full of hatred and mouths full of judgment.

“Right,” he said. The single word came out level, as if he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack. “I need to use the bathroom first, give me five minutes.”

No one else was in the bathroom, which was fortunate. That meant that no one was there to witness Jean hunch over the toilet and spew the measly remains of yesterday’s food. Even after his stomach was empty he dry heaved for a couple of minutes, the convulsions clenching his chest like a vice grip. 

Afterward he rinsed his mouth out in the sink, slapped his face with cold water, and returned to the lobby like nothing had happened.

Christa waved at him from behind her desk as he exited the building. He didn’t see Sasha. She was probably on a post-lunch snack break.

Eren drove them to the courthouse in his ridiculous truck. He talked the entire way but Jean didn’t register a single word that was said. He was preoccupied with trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to throw up again in the floorboard of Jaeger’s Chevrolet.

Jean wished Marco was there.

They saw three news vans before they’d even found a parking spot. Jean wasn’t as concerned about the press coverage as he was about the cluster of people gathered near the front of the building, clearly there in protest of the entire affair. There were a few more than there had been last time, but they appeared more passive. It wasn’t until Jean and Eren were approaching the front door that Jean could make out the subtle anger dancing in sharp glances, the smoldering rage in the shapes of their lips as they muttered to one another. 

None of them seemed inclined to approach Jean or even speak loudly enough for him to overhear their comments. He realized why when he saw the small group of officers standing nearby, copper badges gleaming in the afternoon sun.

It was Shift 1; Eld and Gunther stood nearest to the protesters, Petra and Auruo closer to the courthouse doors. 

Shift 3 was currently on duty, not Shift 1. It took Jean a moment to figure out why there were there, but when it clicked into place he felt nothing but gratitude.

Shift 1 would be on duty at five o’clock. They’d reported early just to be present at the courthouse, to keep any potential problems in check.

Jean had never bonded with Shift 1, but suddenly they were four of his favorite people.

He tried not to look too closely at the angry civilians as he passed, but couldn’t help the sidelong glance. There were black faces, as he’d expected. Most of them were probably Eli’s friends and family or witnesses from the night of the shooting. Mingled among them, though, were plenty of white faces as well, expressions equally as bitter. 

At least they were all united in their hatred. 

He and Eren entered the courthouse together and were met almost immediately by Levi and Mike, the Captain of Shift 1.

“Where have you idiots been?” snapped Levi. 

“Sorry, Captain,” said Eren. “Kirschtein was taking forever. I practically had to drag him here.”

Jean couldn’t even muster up the energy to glare at him.

“Get it together, Kirschtein,” said Levi. He turned to Mike, whose extreme height dwarfed him. “Thanks again, Zacharias. I owe you one.”

Mike shrugged off the gratitude and headed outside to rejoin his shift. 

“Get in there, Jaeger,” said Levi, pointing toward the courtroom. “They’re checking to make sure everyone showed up. Tell Pixis that Kirschtein is out here, too.”

“Yes, sir,” said Eren, immediately trotting away.

Levi rounded on Jean as soon as Eren was gone. “Listen, Kirschtein.” His voice was sharp but his face didn’t reflect his usual attitude. There was something about the creases formed by his furrowed brow that suggested concern rather than irritation. “Everyone is watching you. Remember what we talked about before. Don’t give anyone a reason to think you’re nervous. They’re running through the normal docket first so it might be a while before they get to you. Treat this like a normal case, Kirschtein. Stick to the facts. Got it? Only the facts.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got it.”

“Then stop looking like you’re about to shit yourself.”

Jean took a deep breath and tried to relax his expression. The muscles in his face were so tense that he felt like he’d just gotten a botox injection.

Levi frowned up at him. “Slightly better. Get your ass in there. Sit beside Mikasa, she has that Zen bullshit figured out. Maybe it’ll rub off on you.”

Jean nodded and did as he was told. The hardest part was pushing open the courtroom door. Everyone in the audience turned to stare, recognition present in the majority of the faces. The ones that weren’t familiar with him were soon filled in as their neighbors leaned over to whisper details that Jean preferred not to know.

A loud crack sounded from the front of the courtroom.

“Come to order,” demanded Judge Zackley, scowling at the audience. “If you can’t respect the court proceedings then you will be escorted outside.”

That fixed the problem. A hush engulfed the room and Jean shuffled toward the front row of seats where the rest of his shift sat.

Annie was on the end, looking as bored as usual. Surprisingly it was Sasha who sat beside her, doe eyes blinking up at Jean as he sidled into the row of seats. 

He plopped down between Eren and Mikasa, pretending that everyone else in the courtroom wasn’t staring at him. He glanced up long enough to see Pixis sitting at the defense table, flanked by Chief Smith, who offered Jean a somber nod before returning to his whispered discussion with the lawyer.

The judge called a name from the docket and a girl no older than eighteen stumbled up to the front of the room and stood behind the podium, picking nervously at her nails as she was addressed by the judge.

“How long is the docket?” Jean whispered. He’d asked Mikasa rather than Eren. Maybe Levi was right and some of her perpetual calm would be absorbed into his pores.

“Five pages,” she murmured back. “It’s going to be a while.”

Five pages of cases could take hours. That didn’t even include the potential factor of other trials that could have been scheduled for the day. Jean’s would probably be last considering it was the main event. He felt like a circus act, the bearded lady or the tattooed man that people gathered around to see. 

Only these people liked him much less than an oddity at a sideshow.

“Great,” Jean whispered to no one in particular. He clutched his hands together in his lap and pretended his fingers weren’t shaking. He was glad he’d remembered to silence his cell phone before entering the building. If he’d tried to take it out and change the volume at that moment he probably would have fumbled it into the floor. “Just fucking great.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken 31 chapters to get here, but here it is.

It was three hours of sweating and waiting and twitching each time another name was announced before Jean’s case was finally called before the court.

It was a little past four-thirty. Some of the audience members had come and gone as their cases were disposed of but others had remained for the trial. Most of the audience was probably involved in some capacity, either witnesses or family members or friends. Four reporters were scattered at different points in the courtroom, each equipped with a notebook, one of them discreetly adjusting a tape recorder. 

Eli’s mom sat directly across the room. She was on the front row just behind the prosecutors’ table. Jean had looked at her several times but she’d never spared a glance in his direction. She was going to testify, too. 

Jean wondered if she was nervous, then discarded the possibility. She had nothing to be nervous about. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

She hadn’t killed anyone.

“All parties involved in the case of Jean Kirschtein,” announced Zackley, the sound of his name making Jean spasm in his chair. “Please come forward.”

Jean’s heart felt like a caffeinated bumblebee. It was fluttering so quickly that it didn’t even feel like a heartbeat anymore. He wondered if he was flatlining and just didn’t realize it.

If he passed out maybe they would take pity on him and dismiss the case.

Or he would have to come back the next day and endure the mind-numbing nervousness again.

Jean stepped through the short, swinging gate that separated the audience from the front of the courtroom. Pixis was sitting alone at the defense table with his typical vague smile. Jean took the seat beside him and tried to breathe as normally as possible. Only a second later Levi patted Jean on the shoulder and sat on his other side, receiving a curious glance from Pixis.

“I’m his Captain,” said Levi with a trademark scowl. “I’m just as responsible for this shit as he is. If Kirschtein is on trial then so am I.”

Pixis chose not to argue, instead returning his attention to the judge.

Jean would have felt a surge of grateful affection for Levi if he his heart wasn’t lodged somewhere in his esophagus.

If Zackley was bothered by Levi’s relocation, he didn’t indicate it.

“Everyone who will be testifying in this case needs to stand,” announced the judge, waiting until they did so before continuing. Jean and Levi both rose. Jean heard the sound of shuffling behind him. He knew that Eren, Mikasa, and Annie had done the same. “All of you raise your right hands. Do you swear or affirm that the testimony you are about to give…”

Zackley read them their rights, waited for individual acknowledgements, and informed them of the consequences of perjury. He then turned his attention toward Nanaba. It was the first time that Jean allowed himself to actually look at her. 

She was dressed in a suit that was probably a few hundred dollars classier than his, and she looked a hell of a lot better in it. Her ice blonde hair paired well with the cold blue of her eyes. Jean wished the tables were turned and that she was his lawyer instead of Pixis. 

“Your honor, I request the rule,” she said. Her voice was just as frigid as the rest of her. 

“Of course. Who will you call as your first witness?”

“Janine Stokes, the victim’s mother.”

“Ms. Stokes, please approach,” said Zackly, waving the woman forward. “All other witnesses please step out into the hall. A bailiff will inform you when it is your turn to testify. You will not speak to anyone else involved in the case while you wait. If you do then you will be charged with contempt of court.”

It was protocol, and Jean had been expecting it, but it was still painful to watch his shift trudge out into the hallway, casting lingering, worried, somewhat encouraging glances back at him. Levi muttered an explicit curse under his breath as he stood, reluctantly obeying the judge’s order and exiting into the hall. 

Jean was left alone with Pixis. He’d about rather be on his own. He glanced over his shoulder and realized that Sasha was still there, her mouth curving with a comforting smile. He was suddenly so ecstatic that he’d made amends with her that he forgot to be nervous for about a quarter of a second. 

Chief Smith had also remained. He took one of the vacant seats beside Sasha, leaning to murmur something quietly in her ear.

At least two people in the room had Jean’s back. Three if he wanted to count Pixis, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he did. 

A low bench sat at the front of the courtroom, just beside the Judge’s lofty position. On the table was a microphone. Janine Stokes took the single chair behind the bench, attended by a bailiff who stood against the wall a few feet away from her. 

“General Nanaba,” said Judge Zackley, “you may begin.”

Jean hadn’t expected any of this to be a pleasant experience.

He wasn’t disappointed.

It was worse than he’d thought. It wasn’t all cut and dry facts about the night of the shooting. Nanaba was too smart for that. She took a different approach and asked questions about Eli as a person, as a student, as a son. 

Janine Stokes made it through all of the questions steadily, her voice stronger than Jean felt. She was determined, stable. She’d experienced grief and she’d become tougher because of it.

It wasn’t until Nanaba started asking about the night in question that Ms. Stokes wavered.

“Tell us what happened on that night,” said Nanaba, “from your point of view. What did you see exactly?”

Janine Stokes took a steadying breath. Her eyes lighted on Jean for a split second. That was all it took to harden her face and her resolve.

“I was inside the apartment,” the woman said, her gaze fixed on Nanaba. “I heard a commotion outside, raised voices, yelling. I looked out the window and saw Eli out on the sidewalk. Then I saw the police car.” Her expression settled into an even stronger determination. “Police cars in our neighborhood are never good. Someone always goes to jail and I didn’t want it to be my son.”

She shifted a little in her chair, eyes sweeping over the audience whose rapt attention was fixed on her like laser sights. 

“I was washing dishes. I dried my hands off and went to the front door. Before I even got outside I heard the gunshot. Then I started running.” Only the barest hint of emotion quivered in her voice. Nanaba had clearly worked with her on the testimony. She hadn’t necessarily coached Ms. Stokes on _what_ to say, but definitely _how_ to say it. Emotion was frowned upon in a courtroom, even that of a grieving mother. 

“Other people heard it and came outside, too,” said Janine. “I had to push them out of my way to see what had happened, to see my son.” Her voice cracked on the word and she cleared her throat, getting herself back in check. “He was on the ground, bleeding. There were a few of the neighbors gathered around. They were in my way and I shoved past them, too. His eyes were open but he wasn’t seeing anything. He didn’t see me. He didn’t hear me calling for him.”

“He was deceased by the time you arrived?” confirmed Nanaba, her tone strictly business.

“As far as I could tell. The cop started doing CPR but it didn’t help anything.”

“Which officer are you referring to?”

“The one who shot him.”

The statement was curt, bold. Jean literally felt himself paling, a flash of cold heat burning the back of his neck.

“Was he the only officer present?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain that he was the one who fired the shot? Even though didn’t see it?”

“Yes.”

Jean looked at Pixis. He should have raised an objection about the fact that she hadn’t witnessed the shot. He should say _something_.

But he just sat, that vague fucking smile on his face as if he was completely unbothered by the proceedings.

“Did you see any weapons lying around?” said Nanaba. “Guns, knives, anything like that?”

“No. The only weapon I saw was the one on the cop’s belt.”

“You saw no weapons or other threatening items that may have been in your son’s possession at the time of the incident?”

“No, there was nothing.”

“Did you have any knowledge of your son carrying any weapons on a regular basis?”

“He carried a pocket knife my late husband gave him every now and then, but he didn’t have it that day. I found it in his room later.”

“If I may introduce into evidence a copy of the items found on Eli Stokes’s body that night,” said Nanaba. She produced a few loose pieces of paper and slid one in front of Pixis. She then gave two more copies to a bailiff, who distributed one to Janine Stokes and presented one to the judge.

“Any objections?” said Judge Zackley.

“No, your honor,” said Pixis.

“Let the record reflect that Exhibit A has been introduced,” said the judge. “Continue.”

“Ms. Stokes,” said Nanaba, “will you please read the list to the court?”

She did so. Among the inventory was nothing that could be perceived as threatening, which Nanaba was quick to point out.

“The officer you mentioned,” said Nanaba, “the one who was present when this occurred, the one that you believe fired the shot that resulted in your son’s death. Do you see him here today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please point him out?”

“He’s there,” said Ms. Stokes, pointing a quivering finger toward Jean without looking at him.

Jean’s blood ran cold.

“Let the record reflect that the witness has identified Corporal Kirschtein,” said Judge Zackley.

“No further questions, your honor,” said Nanaba, resuming her seat.

“Defense?”

“No questions,” said Pixis. 

Jean’s mouth fell open.

Did Pixis _know_ how court was supposed to work?

“The witness may step down,” said Judge Zackley. Ms. Stokes did so with something that looked like relief. As she returned to her seat on the front row of the audience the judge said, “Who will the state call as their next witness?”

“Todd Perry.”

A bailiff exited into the hallway to retrieve said witness. Jean didn’t recognize him. He assumed he’d been present the night of the shooting, and he was right.

Apparently the man had been outside and had seen everything. He testified that he’d witnessed the exchange between Eli and Corporal Kirschtein. He stated that there had been yelling on Eli’s part, but that was all. There were no weapons, no blatant threats. The officer had snapped, pulled his gun, and fired a shot without provocation.

Jean listened in silence. There was nothing else he could do. 

Pixis didn’t feel the urge to question that witness either. Or the next or the next, both of which corroborated Todd Perry’s story to the last detail.

None of them saw Eli with a weapon. None of them saw Eli do anything that would instigate the use of force, especially not deadly force. It had been unprecedented, uncalled for.

Jean knew he would have a turn to speak, but at that point it wasn’t going to matter.

No one was going to believe him.

They should just stop the trial now and save everyone the time. He was going to be declared guilty.

He was _guilty_.

“That’s all of the state’s witnesses, your honor,” said Nanaba. Her voice was perfect professionalism, but Jean could’ve sworn she tossed a smug look in his direction. Finally Pixis stirred. He stood, faintly smiling up at Zackley. “The first witness for the defense will be Captain Levi Ackerman.”

A minute later Levi had been retrieved and was sitting at the front of the courtroom, scowl unwavering.

Pixis’s approach was somewhat different than Nanaba’s.

“Hello, Captain,” he said; smiling, always smiling. “How are you doing today?”

“I’ve been better.”

“I imagine so. Tell us, Captain, your thoughts on the incident that has brought us here.”

“You don’t want to know my thoughts, I promise you that,” said Levi. “I’ll tell you what happened, though.”

Judge Zackley didn’t appear very pleased with Levi’s attitude, but said nothing as the Captain launched into a detailed description of the night in question. Pixis may not have been very concerned with Jean’s future, but Captain Levi was.

He hadn’t brought a copy of the report, but he didn’t need it. He relayed exact times down to the minute; Jean’s response time, the officers that arrived after, and his own. He detailed exactly what he’d seen and exactly what the witnesses had said, word for word. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stutter, and didn’t express an ounce of emotion aside from irritation.

It was all in vain, though, when it was Nanaba’s turn to question him. Unlike Pixis, she didn’t dismiss the opportunity for cross-examination. 

She only asked one question, but it was all that was needed to strengthen her case.

“Captain Ackerman,” she said. “When you arrived on scene did you see any weapons that could have possibly been in the victim’s possession?”

“I didn’t get there until eight minutes after the shot was fired. If there was a weapon it may have been moved before I responded.”

“That wasn’t the question, Captain.”

Jean saw Levi grit his teeth. For a moment he was afraid that the Captain would snap back a smartass comment and get himself kicked out of the courtroom. 

“No,” Levi finally said, the word tight. “I didn’t see any weapons.”

“The prosecution rests, your honor.”

Mikasa’s testimony was so similar to Levi’s that it was practically the same statement, delivered with the same level of enthusiasm.

Nanaba asked the same question, received the same response, and Jean’s defense continued to weaken.

He looked to Pixis, who seemed unbothered.

Eren was next, but Jean felt nothing approaching optimism. Jean had read the statements of all of the other officers. None of them had seen a weapon. None of them could say for certain that Jean made the right decision. 

Jean was fucked.

“Just because I didn’t see one doesn’t mean there wasn’t one there,” said Jeager when he’d finished his testimony and had been turned over to Nanaba. “There were people everywhere. Anything could have happened.”

“But you didn’t see one,” Nanaba reiterated. “Based on dispatch’s records you arrived approximately one minute after the shot was fired. If anyone would have seen an alleged weapon it would have been you.”

“There was a weapon,” insisted Eren. Jean appreciated what Jaeger was trying to do but he should just let it go. His persistence wasn’t going to change anything. “Corporal Kirschtein said there was one.”

“That isn’t the issue we’re discussing, Officer Jaeger.”

“It’s what you should be discussing,” said Eren, “because you’re calling him a liar and he’s not. All of this is bullshit.”

“Officer Jaeger,” said Zackley, the reprimand silencing the murmurs that had risen in the audience as a result of the profanity. “Remember where you are.”

“Sorry, your honor.”

“No further questions.”

Eren looked at Jean as he passed, the familiar scowl failing to ease his anxiety. Instead it sent it soaring somewhere around Everest because Jean knew he was next.

Levi, who had resumed his seat beside Jean after finishing his own testimony, threw an elbow that caught Jean in the ribs.

Jean started to rise, assuming that was his cue to move, but Levi shook his head and hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

Jean followed the gesture and saw a last-minute observer creeping through the heavy door of the courtroom. The man hovered on the threshold for a moment, disoriented by the interior of the chamber. Then his eyes found Jean and he smiled, a weary expression that revealed a single dimple etched among a spray of familiar freckles.

Jean’s heart backflipped as Marco quietly traversed the aisle and took a seat beside Eren, who was still too annoyed to acknowledge his arrival.

“Corporal Kirschtein,” said Pixis, his voice nudging Jean into motion.

He peeled his eyes away from Marco and stood, taking a moment to appreciate that he’d refrained from fainting. He hoped his luck continued.

He approached the stand with measured steps, half expecting the audience to break into a din of boos and catcalls although he knew it was prohibited in such an environment. The force of the angry stares was enough. They were equally as strong as a multitude of shouts, following his every step and unsettling him as he took his seat.

But Marco was out there, too. 

“Corporal Kirschtein,” said Pixis. “How long have you worked for the Jinae Police Department?”

At least he was starting with the questions they’d already rehearsed. 

“Seven years.”

“In that amount of time have you ever been accused of excessive force in any capacity?”

“No, sir.”

“In that time have you ever discharged your firearm in the line of duty?”

“Not my Glock,” said Jean. “I’ve used my shotgun to dispose of a couple deer that were hit by cars. To put them out of their misery. My Sergeant approved those.”

“So you’ve never fired your sidearm,” Pixis reiterated, “until the night that we’re here to discuss.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell the court what happened, Corporal.”

Jean took a deep breath and wished that he was absolutely anywhere else. Preferably on a beach somewhere, drinking overpriced margaritas with Marco, listening to the waves roll in. 

When he exhaled, he was still sitting in the courtroom, the subject of nearly a hundred stares.

The only person who’d heard this story from Jean was Major Zoe, and that was only because he hadn’t been given a choice. It was necessary for the investigation. He hadn’t spoken of it to anyone else; not Eren, not Armin, not Marco, not Captain. 

He hadn’t even practiced this part with Pixis. The old man had just assumed that Jean’s testimony would match what was in the report.

Jean didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to _think_ about this.

He looked up one more time. Marco was watching him; he nodded as Jean’s eyes found him.

Jean swallowed, focused on a random point on the wooden grain of the table in front of him, and started talking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...half of it, anyway. The rest will be posted soon!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conclusion of the courtroom drama. For real this time.

“The call came in as a ten-twenty-six; disorderly conduct. It was on Holly Street, which is located in Zone 3, which is my patrol area. I was driving on Green Valley Road at the time, which is approximately a two minute drive away. I arrived at twenty-two forty-five.”

The first few words were the hardest. As Jean kept talking they flowed a little easier, sand spilling through a sieve. He pretended he was testifying in a normal case, one that didn’t have the potential to destroy his life.

“The caller advised there were several unruly subjects causing a disturbance in the area. I saw them on the street outside of 244 Holly. I parked about half a block away and approached on foot.”

“How many subjects would you say there were?” said Pixis, guiding the testimony.

“Six or seven,” said Jean. “As soon as they noticed me they started running so I’m not positive. I didn’t pursue them. I couldn’t have caught all of them. One subject remained so I approached him to try and get some info on the situation.”

“Who was the one subject?”

“He was later identified as Eli Stokes,” said Jean. The name tasted wrong on his tongue, as if he shouldn’t be allowed to speak of something he’d destroyed. “I didn’t know that until after the incident. When I approached him I asked for his name and he wouldn't respond.”

He waited for Pixis to prompt him but the attorney seemed content to allow Jean to finish the story.

“I asked him what had been happening there and if he and his friends had been causing a disturbance. He was openly hostile and would not respond to any of my questions. I asked him to see his identification and he said I could only have it if I tried to take it from him.”

“Did he seem to be impaired in any way?” said Pixis. 

“No, he didn’t act as if he was under the influence of alcohol or other substances. He just seemed angry. He made several comments about me being an officer and about the police in general.” Jean lifted his gaze from the table. Pixis was watching him patiently, his kind eyes a small comfort despite Jean’s belief that the old man was fairly incompetent. Jean looked past him into the audience, reassuring himself that Marco was still there. Just knowing he was present eased the weight of a potential panic attack.

After a moment of silence had passed Pixis prompted, “Continue.”

“The more I spoke to him the more hostile he became,” said Jean. “He started yelling. I told him to stop or he would be arrested for disorderly conduct. He laughed and dared me to try. I reached for him, to take him into custody. As soon as I touched him he reached under the back of his shirt and pulled a gun.”

There were faint murmurings from the courtroom, most of them from just behind the prosecution’s table. The witnesses that had testified on the state’s behalf were muttering among themselves, eyes darting between one another and Jean.

“I pulled my Glock,” said Jean. “He wasn’t pointing the gun at me, just holding it at his side. I told him to drop it and he wouldn’t. I told him several times. I warned him if he didn’t that I would fire a shot. He wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t listen and I…”

Jean trailed off, the pressure of the situation tripling. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not here, not in front of all these people, not ever. He wanted to bottle it up, pop a cork in it, and keep it on the shelf until he died. 

“What happened next?”

Pixis’s voice was still calm. Jean found himself unable to look at his lawyer. He couldn’t look at anyone.

He wasn’t sure he would be able to speak even if he wanted to.

He wiped his sleeve over his temple, brushing away a bead of sweat. He pretended his heart wasn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. He clenched his hands together in his lap and pretended his fingers weren’t shaking.

He chanced another glance at the audience and this time it was Jaeger who caught his eyes, Eren’s eyebrow raised in impatience. He mouthed a silent string of words that Jean had trouble interpreting. 

When he did, he had to suppress a grin so that the courtroom wouldn’t think he was insane.

Eren smirked, his voice echoing in Jean’s mind as if he’d spoken aloud.

_Don’t be a little bitch._

Jean looked at Marco one more time, sat a little straighter, and picked up the retelling.

“I told him if he didn’t drop the weapon that I would shoot,” said Jean. His voice was a touch stronger, as if he’d been injected with a small dose of confidence. “He laughed and said I wouldn’t. He said I didn’t have the balls. I should have fired then. He refused to cooperate and there was no other safe way to detain him. But I didn’t want to, and he saw that. He saw me hesitate and he moved. He raised the gun to point it at me. So I fired one shot. It hit him in the chest. He dropped the gun and then he fell.”

At the prosecution’s table, Nanaba was scribbling furiously on her notes.

“Some of the other witnesses stated that when they arrived on-scene that you had a significant amount of blood on you,” said Pixis. “Why was that?”

“My gloves were in the car,” said Jean. “I didn’t have time to get them. I started giving him CPR and it got all over me.”

“There are a number of diseases that can be transmitted through bodily fluids such as blood,” said Pixis, “not all of which can be vaccinated against. Despite that, you were willing to risk exposure to try and keep him alive until the paramedics arrived, is that correct?”

“Objection, your honor,” said Nanaba, perking up in her chair. “Irrelevant.”

“Withdrawn,” said Pixis, before Zackley had a chance to respond. “How long after that did Officer Jaeger arrive?”

“No more than a minute,” said Jean. “He was already on his way to back me up since there were no calls in his zone at the time.”

“During his testimony Jaeger stated that a crowd had gathered. About how many people would you say were around you?”

“Just a few at first,” said Jean. “Four or five people came running when they heard the shot. More started showing up after that. By the time we left the scene there were probably thirty people.”

“Let’s go back to the moment you fired your weapon,” said Pixis. “What were you thinking about in that split second before you pulled the trigger?”

“I was thinking I was about to be killed.”

“You felt that your life was in imminent danger?”

They had rehearsed this part several times.

“Yes, sir. I felt that if I didn’t fire I’d be the one dead.”

“You’re saying that you didn’t have a choice.”

“No. I didn’t have a choice.”

Pixis nodded sagely. “No further questions, your honor.”

“Nanaba?”

She swept up to the podium with something akin to eagerness. Whatever optimism Jean had managed to drum up was punctured like a blown balloon.

“Corporal Kirschtein,” said Nanaba, “I find your version of events interesting. Would you care to guess why?”

“Not really.”

“I had several witnesses on the stand,” she said. “You heard all of their testimonies. Their stories were consistent. Even the officers who testified on your behalf told stories that were consistent. It seems that you, on the other hand, are trying to spin the events so that they benefit you.”

Jean didn’t speak. There was nothing to say to that.

“For example,” said Nanaba, “you are the only person who insists that Eli Stokes was armed at the time of the shooting. Todd Elliott was there, Coporal. He was a witness to everything that happened. He states that the only gun he saw was yours.” 

“I heard him.”

“It seems,” said Nanaba, “that you fabricated the existence of an alleged weapon to cover yourself from potential consequences. Is this true?”

Jean had known the question was going to arise; he just hadn’t thought it would be so blatant.

“No,” he said, “it’s not true.”

“Where’s your evidence to support that claim?”

It was buried somewhere in the flawed technology of his bodycam.

“I gave my testimony,” said Jean. “That’s my evidence. I’m testifying under oath and I’m not a liar.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Nanaba insisted. Jean was fairly sure that was exactly what she’d said. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this, Corporal. The facts aren’t adding up.”

Nanaba bombarded Jean with a round of questions, picking meticulously at different details of the case. Jean answered them to the best of his ability, trying to keep his composure in a firm grasp.

At one point during the interrogation the door to the courtroom swung open again. Unlike Marco’s quiet entrance, there was nothing subtle about this one.

Hanji launched herself up the aisle, barely stopping herself from smacking into the short wall that separated the front of the courtroom from the audience. She leaned over the waist-high wall as far as possible, tapping on the back of Pixis’s chair to get his attention. He twisted around and she started whispering.

It was an attempt at whispering, anyway. Jean doubted that Major Zoe could produce a successful whisper if her life depended on it. Her voice was more inclined to the shouting of a military sergeant.

Judge Zackley slapped his gavel on the bench, interrupting the Major’s intense mutters and, consequently, Nanaba’s questioning.

“This is a trial,” he said, staring sternly down at Hanji. “We do not allow disruptions. If you cannot adhere to the rules of the court you will be escorted outside.”

“Sorry, your honor!” Hanji said, waving at the judge as if they were old friends.

At the defense table, Levi rolled his eyes.

Hanji took a seat, but not before sliding something to Pixis that made the old man’s smile crease his face even more widely.

Jean was so focused on the exchange that he almost failed to notice Armin slip in behind the Major and take a quiet seat just behind Eren and Mikasa. Jean had been so wrapped up in his own panic that he had forgotten that Armin was supposed to be there. Armin saw Jean looking and smiled up at him, the expression completely genuine.

There was no apprehension there. Armin didn’t appear affected by the atmosphere of the courtroom or bothered by the grim faces of his fellow officers. He seemed completely relaxed.

Almost as if he knew something that no one else was aware of.

Jean looked back to Pixis, who had spread Hanji’s delivery out onto the table. There were a few stapled sets of papers and…

Jean’s body cam.

Jean’s eyes darted back to Armin who simply nodded, as if answering Jean’s unspoken question. Major Zoe bounced in her seat as if she’d been set on vibrate.

“Your honor,” said Pixis, speaking up before Nanaba could resume her questioning. “I have some new evidence I would like to introduce to the court.”

“Excuse me?” said Nanaba. “I have not been made aware of any additional evidence. I have not been provided with this therefore I must insist that it be excluded from the case.”

Pixis calmly stood, carried one of the stapled bundles of papers to the middle of the floor, and slid it onto the podium in front of Nanaba. He offered another to a bailiff, who dutifully transported it to the judge.

Zackley looked through the document, his eyebrows rising a little higher each time he flipped a page.

“Your honor,” said Nanaba, staring at the script in front of her as if it was an infectious bacteria. “This was not introduced before the trial. It should not be permitted to be heard.”

“You are being supplied a copy now,” said Pixis, “before it is introduced. Take a moment to read over it if you wish. I want you to be properly prepared.”

“Your honor, this is not-”

“That’s enough,” said Zackley, cutting off her plea. “Pixis, is this transcript all that you have?”

“There was a malfunction with the equipment,” said Pixis, “so there is no video of the event.” He looked at Jean, eyes twinkling beneath a heavily creased forehead. “However, we have been able to recover the audio of the night in question. I would request the opportunity to play it for the court to discover what truly happened. I believe it will be much more revealing than any of the testimony we’ve heard so far.”

Nanaba opened her mouth to argue but Zackley spoke first.

“Bailiff, get the media set up for the defense. Kirschtein, you may step down from the bench for now.”

Jean was startled by the sound of his own name. He’d been so absorbed by the events that he’d nearly forgotten he was the one in the limelight.

“Yes, your honor,” he said, quickly standing and scuffling back to his seat between Pixis and Captain Levi. He felt jittery, like he was about to shake out of his skin. 

They had the audio. They could hear what happened, even if they couldn’t see it. Everyone would hear what Jean had said, what Eli Stokes had said. Everyone would hear the truth.

But they would also hear exactly what Jean had done. They would hear the gunshot that had killed. They would hear the worst moment of Jean’s life. It wasn’t something that he wanted to share. He wanted to carry the shame to his grave.

But at that point he didn’t have much of a choice.

He was glad that Marco was there but at the same time he didn’t want him hear the recording. Marco thought Jean was okay. He thought Jean was a decent person. Marco hadn’t arrived on scene until the worst was already over. 

Jean didn’t want Marco to think of him as a murderer. He didn’t want Marco to think of him the same way that Jean thought of himself.

The bailiffs had plenty of experience with courtroom presentations. It was only a moment later before they had the device plugged into the courtroom’s speakers. One of them fiddled with the laptop, nodding at Judge Zackley when the audio was ready to play. 

“I feel that it’s safe to say this is going to be fairly graphic,” said the judge, “so if anyone present would like to step outside now is the time.” Several audience members shifted, uncomfortable, but none rose to leave. “Go ahead.”

The bailiff did as instructed and a second later Jean’s voice echoed in the courtroom.

The recording began exactly where it needed to in order to fill in the entire story. Hanji had engineered that, just like she’d somehow ran a transcript of the entire audio. That was what she’d enclosed in the papers that she’d given Pixis. Jean glanced at the set still lying on the table, a detailed listing of the conversation that was on the audio, a description of the sounds that had been audible in the background. 

Jean cringed in his seat. He’d always hated the sound of his voice on a recording, but that wasn’t the reason for his discomfort. The high stress of the situation had blurred some of his memories around the edges. He knew what had happened, but some of the details had slipped away. He knew approximately what he’d said, but couldn’t quite recall how he’d said it. 

He wished he could step outside until it was over.

“ _Headquarters, 403_.” Jean’s voice was flat, almost bored. He hadn’t known what was coming. He’d thought of it as a routine call, and maybe that was why it had ended badly. Calls were never routine. 

“ _403, go ahead_.” That was the scratchy voice of the dispatcher, slightly distorted.

“ _Ten ninety-seven on Holly Street._ ”

“ _Ten-four._ ”

There was the sound of rustling, probably Jean exiting his vehicle. Then a faint static that was probably wind.

“ _Hey… Hey! Stop, Trost Police_!” The sudden shout startled Jean, even though he’d been expecting it. “ _Fucking kids_ ,” the voice muttered, then got louder again. “ _You. I’m Corporal Kirschtein with Trost Police. We got a call about someone disturbing the neighborhood. I’m assuming that since your friends just ran off that would be you guys?_ ”

“ _We’re not disturbing anybody._ ” The voice was somewhat quieter; Jean was just loud because the device was attached to his uniform. “ _People should mind their own business._ ”

“ _I’m sure they would if you weren’t bothering them. You need to keep it down out here. Respect other people. I mean, hell, it’s after eleven. Don’t you have school or something? How old are you?_ ” 

“ _None of your business._ ”

“ _Actually it is. Let me see your ID._ ”

“ _Why? I’m not doing anything._ ”

“ _Just give me your ID, kid. Stop being a dick._ ”

Across the room Nanaba started scribbling furiously, wrist flicking as she crammed notes into the margins of her page. Jean was no longer worried about Nanaba, though. 

Levi gripped his shoulder and lightly shook him. It was only then that Jean realized he had stiffened into a living statue, teeth clenched together so tightly that his jaw ached.

“Stop it,” hissed Levi. “It’s fine.”

Jean nodded absently, tuning him out as Eli Stoke’s voice again spoke.

“ _No. I’m not doing anything wrong. You think you can come out here and harass me because you’re a cop? I don’t think so. I have rights too, even if I’m a poor black kid_.”

“ _That doesn’t have anything to do with it._ ” Jean’s voice was sharp. “ _I got a call, I’m checking it out, and you’re being uncooperative. Just do what I say so I don’t have to arrest you._ ”

“ _Arrest me?_ ” Eli Stokes laughed, the sound bitter.“ _For what? Being black?_ ”

“ _Get off your fucking high horse,_ ” snapped Jean. “ _I don’t care if you’re black. You’re being an annoying little shit. I’ll arrest you for disorderly conduct. So just give me your damn ID and let me clear you so we can both go home._ ”

“ _If you want it then you can try and take it from me. But if you touch me I’ll have your ass for police brutality. So just get back in your car and leave me the fuck alone._ ”

“ _Kid, you don’t want to do this_.”

“ _No,_ you _don’t want to do this._ ”

Listening to it now, Jean knew that was the moment he should have radioed in for backup. He shouldn’t have waited until the situation escalated. Sure, Jaeger had already told dispatch he was on his way, but he hadn’t exactly been in a hurry. If Jean had just mentioned that he needed someone there with him, if he’d said anything at all, Jaeger would have been there sooner. Maybe in time to prevent the entire catastrophe.

So, really, everything was Jean’s fault. He hadn’t done it intentionally, but his negligence had been the root of the problem.

“ _Last chance, kid. Give me your ID. Now._ ”

“ _Fuck you, pig._ ”

_“Alright, that’s it. C’mere, you little dipshit. Turn around, hands behind your back._ ” 

“ _What? You can’t… No, I don’t fucking think so_.”

There was more rustling, this time louder. A metallic clink that Jean recalled as himself reaching for the handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt. There was loud crackling, the sound of violent friction, a profanity uttered in Jean’s low voice, a clunky, sliding sound that Jean recognized as his gun being unholstered. 

“ _Put it down_.” This time his voice was different. He’d shifted into the alternate persona that the Academy had drilled into his head, the one that could see death and blood and starving children without batting an eye, without feeling anything. He’d turned himself off and only an officer was left. “ _Drop your weapon_ now.”

“ _You won’t shoot me.”_ There was a grin behind the voice, a taunt. _“You don’t have the balls._ ” 

“ _I said drop the gun. Do it now or I’ll shoot._ ”

“ _I don’t think you will_.”

“ _Please.” A piece of Jean shone through the officer persona, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to do this. Just drop it and we’ll talk about this._ ”

“ _If I drop it you’ll arrest me, and I’m not getting arrested. Not in front of my own house where my mom will see._ ”

“ _Put the gun on the ground and we’ll talk about it,_ ” Jean repeated.

“ _You bastards don’t want to talk. You’ll haul my ass to jail and I’ll never see the light of day again. Fuck. You._ ”

There was an intake of breath so sharp that it was audible on the recording. Jean flinched before the gunshot even went off. When it did, a bang that washed out all other sound, he closed his eyes and wondered if it would’ve been easier to do the trial without having to listen to the tape.

Levi’s grip tightened on his shoulder again.

“ _No._ ” Now the voice was low, scraping a whisper. “ _No, no, fuck, fuckfuckfuck…_ ” There was scuffling, the click of his gun crammed back into the holster, more rustling. Jean knew that was when he’d dropped to his knees, when he’d pressed against the boy’s chest and tried to stop the bleeding. There had been blood everywhere; between his fingers, coating his palms, beneath his nails.

“ _Shit,_ ” his voice hissed, “ _Shit, shit, no, fuck_ , breathe.”

Voices started emerging in the background, some of them screams. 

“ _It’s Eli!_ ” A female shouted. “ _He shot Eli! Someone find Janine, get Janine!_ ”

“ _Oh God._ ”

“ _There’s blood, so much blood…_ ”

“ _He had a gun, where did he find-_ ”

“ _Get it.”_ That voice was quieter, more distant, but clear on the recording. _“The gun, get it, we have to hide it before more cops get here…_ ”

At the defense table Jean sucked in a sharp breath at the same time that Nanaba stopped taking notes. She raised her head, expression impassive. Then, slowly, she capped her pen and placed it on the table. 

“That will be adequate, your honor,” said Pixis, talking over the recording. Jean knew that Eren’s entrance would occur soon, but it wasn’t necessary. They’d heard enough. The bailiff compliantly stopped the audio. Only silence remained in its wake, a silence that pressed in around Jean like he was miles underwater.

“Nanaba,” said Judge Zackley after a pause. “Would you like to continue questioning Corporal Kirschtein?”

“No, your honor.” Nanaba was sitting tall in her chair, back straight, hands tucked neatly in her lap. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I believe I should motion to dismiss the case at this time.”

“I believe that’s a wise decision,” said Zackley. “This case is dismissed.” He tapped his gavel once and the sound was the audience’s cue to burst into conversation. 

Jean didn’t move for a long moment. He was stunned into immobility. 

It was over.

Levi shoved him. “Get up, let’s go. We need to get out of here before the resentment kicks in.”

Jean followed the order mechanically, rising from his chair and stepping away from the table. Against his better judgment he picked Janine Stokes out of the crowd. He expected her to be angry that the case was lost, bitter that Jean wasn’t paying for her son’s death. When he found her, he was surprised to see she didn’t appear outraged at all.

She looked like her entire world had been crushed.

The woman stared blankly at a random point at the front of the room, twin tear tracks streaking her face. Jean was baffled for a moment, then his brain supplied him with the answer.

Janine Stokes had believed her son had been innocent.

She had believed that Jean had killed him without provocation. She had believed that her Eli had been ripped away for no reason, and now that she’d heard her son’s last moments firsthand she was brutally informed that maybe Eli wasn’t the person she thought he was.

Everything she knew about her son’s death was crumbling, and she looked so visibly pained that Jean had to look away.

Any part of him that may have believed the conclusion of the trial was a victory was swiftly exterminated.

He hadn’t won anything. No one had.

Everyone had lost something. 

Jean looked away, but he already knew that her haunted face would be scalded into his memory for the rest of his life.

He would’ve rather been found guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week's chapter might be a day or two late. I'll be out of town and I don't think my laptop will be traveling with me. 
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback, you guys! It means a lot!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week's update wasn't late like I expected. It didn't get posted at all. 
> 
> The rest of the updates will be consistent every week. I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Levi ushered Jean out the back exit of the courtroom, away from the spectators that waited outside. Jean had tried to resist, had told Levi that he wanted to see Marco first, but the Captain was unconcerned with Jean’s request.

Levi led him outside and shoved him into the back of the Explorer impatiently. He drove them to the PD without incident or conversation. When they arrived, Jean blankly followed Levi up the stairs and to the Chief’s office, where Captain left him with a command to stay there until Erwin arrived. 

Then he was gone, and Jean was left alone with his thoughts.

It was a place he didn’t particularly want to be.

Half an hour later he was hunched over with his face in his hands, fingers coiled in his hair, some of the strands popping loose from the tight grip. He was counting his breaths, trying to keep his mind out of more dangerous territory. He was at one-hundred and thirty-five when there was a light tap on the door.

“Jean?” Armin poked his head into the office. He was smiling. “I just got back, the others are… Are you okay?”

Jean hadn’t reacted to Armin’s arrival. He continued to stare at the carpet beneath his shoes.

Armin shuffled quietly into the office, hovering uncertainly beside Jean. He reached out and touched Jean’s shoulder. “Jean?”

“I’m fine.” The words were hollow. 

“You don’t look like it.”

Slowly, Jean straightened out of his hunch and leaned back in the chair, staring up at Armin with a vacant expression. “I’m fine.”

There were two chairs placed in front of the Chief’s desk. Armin took the other one and dragged it around so he could sit facing Jean. For a moment there was silence, just the two of them studying one another.

“That wasn’t how you wanted it to go,” said Armin. It was a statement, not a question.

“That was the best case scenario. I’m legally not at fault.”

“Then why don’t you look happy about it?”

Jean’s stare was flat, voice deadpan. “Would you be?”

“No,” said Armin after a moment. “No, I guess I wouldn’t be.”

He reached out for Jean’s hand and linked their fingers together. Jean almost pulled away but just couldn’t exert the necessary effort. Besides, this wasn’t the same closeness they’d shared when they’d dated. This was just simple, innocent comfort.

“You helped Hanji get the audio, didn’t you?” said Jean. His voice was still a gray monotone, but his eyes flitted up to Armin’s face, awaiting a response.

“Yes,” said Armin. “Your bodycam was just experiencing a glitch. I fixed it just in time.”

There was something off about the way Armin said that, something that Jean couldn’t quite place.

“At least you couldn’t get the video,” mumbled Jean. “That would’ve been worse.”

“I figured you’d think that. That’s why I only pulled the audio.”

Jean stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Thanks, Armin.”

Armin shifted uncomfortably beneath the gratitude, eyes sliding to the side. “Don’t thank me.”

Jean knew Armin well enough to have memorized the little, subtle signs of deceit. His eyes always shifted to the left and his lips always tightened, as if his words were bitter on his tongue. 

It was what Armin did when he lied, but he wasn’t lying now, not exactly. But he was clearly hiding something, and Jean felt he knew exactly what it was.

“It didn’t glitch,” said Jean. His voice was still empty, despite the gravity of the accusation that danced on his tongue. “It was tampered with. Hanji thought it was me, but it wasn’t. You’re the one who fucked with it.”

Armin’s face contorted into a wince, confirming the suspicion. He tried to pull his hand back but Jean wouldn’t allow him. He kept Armin’s fingers laced tightly between his own.

“I’m sorry,” said Armin. Unlike Jean’s voice, Armin’s was full of emotion. Most of it was regret. “I really am, Jean. I know how much pressure it put on you. I wish I hadn’t done it. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth. I really am sorry.”

Jean just looked at him. Armin’s blue eyes were wide, the irises the color of a cloudless summer sky. He’d always looked helpless, innocent. His appearance was as deceiving as Armin himself.

Jean knew he should be angry; no, more than angry. Irate, enraged, absolutely furious. He had every right to be. No one would have faulted him for it.

Yet he felt none of that. He wasn’t even slightly irritated. Part of it was from the aftershock of the trial. He still wasn’t certain that he would feel anything ever again.

Most of it, though, was that he couldn’t find a reason to be bitter. He’d hurt Armin, and badly. After the way Jean had treated him, he felt he had no place to be angry at Armin for anything. Armin had retaliated, but Jean couldn’t say he hadn’t deserved it. He’d likely deserved much worse.

“It’s okay,” said Jean. 

Armin blinked at him, clearly thrown by the passive acceptance. “What?”

“It’s okay,” repeated Jean. “I’m not mad.”

This time Armin yanked on his hand and was successful in freeing himself. He clutched his hands together and stared at Jean, eyebrows furrowing. “Why not?” 

Jean shrugged. “No reason to be. It’s over now. Everything turned out okay.”

“Barely. I thought about destroying all the data. If I’d done that it’s highly likely you would’ve been convicted.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I almost did. I was _this_ close.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I thought about it!” said Armin, his voice rising slightly. “Isn’t that bad enough? What I did was horrible, Jean. I knew it would hurt you. That’s what I wanted. I wanted you to suffer. You can’t just let that go.”

Jean shrugged again, this time raising only one shoulder. “Sure I can. I already have. Don’t worry about it, Armin.”

Armin just gaped at him.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” said Jean, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” 

He said it earnestly enough but Jean knew it wasn’t true, not completely. Of course he was worried. If anyone found out what Armin had done he would be kicked out of the PD so fast that he’d get whiplash.

“I don’t care, Armin,” said Jean. “I really don’t. I’m going to let it go and I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m just glad you changed your mind and recovered the data. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that!”

“Hey, there you guys are!” Eren burst into the room in a whirl of messy hair and a slightly manic grin. “Way to go, dude!” He extended a fist toward Jean, who stared at it for a moment before raising his own fist to tap against Eren’s. “I knew you’d get off! That was awesome. Did you see the look on Nanaba’s face when she knew she’d lost? Fucking priceless!” He turned his grin toward Armin, who was still gawking at Jean. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Armin blinked and looked up at Eren, forcing his face into a grin. “We were just talking.”

“Well that’s enough talking. We should be fucking celebrating! We get our asshole Corporal back on the shift and Investigations gets their golden boy back. It’s a win-win.”

Armin suppressed a wince at Eren’s enthusiasm. Jean looked back down at the carpet between his feet.

“Oh, by the way,” said Eren, “I talked to Marco before we left. He’s coming over for the party later. It might be your lucky night, Kirschtein.”

“Party?”

“Yeah, the one at my place,” said Eren. “The one for you.”

Jean just stared at him. “It’s not my birthday.”

Jaeger rolled his eyes. “No shit, Kirschtein. It’s a contragulations-for-not-going-to-prison-and-becoming-someone’s-bitch party. I’m going to pick up a keg on my way home. The whole shift is coming, plus a few other people. Armin’s coming too, right?” He said, nudging Armin’s leg with his boot.

Armin looked back to Jean. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he said carefully. “I don’t think this is really something to celebrate.”

“Of course it is! Fuck, Kirschtein could be in cuffs right now.”

“Maybe some other time?” said Armin. “Eren, I just think that you shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” said Jean, cutting him off. “A party sounds good.”

“Awesome! Glad somebody knows how to have a little fun,” said Eren, leering at Armin.

Jean ignored the exchange. He would almost rather crawl in a hole and die than attend a party for something he never wanted to think about again for the rest of his life, but he knew Eren, and he knew the party would happen no matter what he said. Besides, there would be a lot of alcohol there. Maybe if he drank enough he’d forget why he was so miserable.

“Be there at eight. That’s only…” Eren checked his watch. “…about two hours from now. Damn, court dragged on forever today.”

“Okay,” said Jean. “I’ll be there.”

“Damn right you will be. Come on, Armin, Major wanted to talk to you again.”

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, whatever. See you later, Kirschtein!”

Jaeger was annoying, but there was something bright about him that tended to light up whatever room he happened to step into. When he left, the shadows descended again, coiling tightly around Jean’s thoughts.

“There doesn’t have to be a party,” said Armin. “I can talk him out of it.”

“No, it’s okay. Really.”

“Alright.” Armin was clearly unconvinced, and clearly still uncomfortable. “Are you sure we’re okay, Jean?”

“If you’re okay after what I did to you then yeah, we’re fine.”

“I think mine was a little worse.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m calling it even.”

“Okay then,” said Armin, still reluctant. He blinked down at the floor and then forced himself to look back at Jean. When he spoke his voice sounded normal, but there was still shame lurking in his summer-bright eyes. “Do you want a ride to Eren’s house later? Since your car is still being borrowed.”

“Sure. Thanks, Armin.”

Armin gave a smile that looked painful and left Jean by himself. It wasn’t long before Levi returned, accompanied by the Chief. They took their respective seats, both lacking Jaeger’s brimming enthusiasm.

But Chief Smith wore a gentle smile, and Levi seemed devoid of his typical snark.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said Erwin, “but it appears that the worst is over.”

“You did good, kid,” said Levi. “You didn’t sound like a complete idiot up there.”

“Do you think another week would be adequate time for you to prepare to return to work?” said the Chief. 

“When’s our next shift?” said Jean, looking to Levi for the answer.

“Wednesday night,” said the Captain.

“Great,” said Jean. “I’ll start then.”

“That’s two days,” said Erwin, frowning at him. “Are you sure that’s enough time?”

“I’ve been waiting for weeks. I’d start tonight if I could. Doing nothing is driving me insane.” That, and the relentless thoughts that continued to circle around his head like a twisted merry-go-round.

“What do you think, Levi?” said Erwin. 

Captain tilted his head at Jean, studying him. “I think if Kirschtein says he’s ready then he’s ready. A few more days won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“Alright then,” said Erwin, as if that settled everything. “You start Wednesday.”

  
  
Levi offered to take Jean home, which was a kind offer coming from the Captain. Jean respectfully declined in favor of walking.

About halfway to the apartment complex Jean remembered the existence of his cell phone. He paused in front of an antique shop to check his notifications, clicking on Marco’s name first.

_Wish I could’ve seen you after court. I have to take care of some things at home but Eren invited me to his party tonight so I’ll see you there. I’ve missed you._

The last three words made Jean’s heart clench. He pulled in a breath and smiled to himself as he typed back a response. 

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to Jaeger’s party, but if Marco was going to be there with him then it would at least be bearable. He thought about calling him and asking for an update about his mom, about everything that was going on in Jinae. It didn’t seem like the right time, though. Clearly Marco was otherwise occupied or he would’ve met up with Jean already.

Jean could wait. It would be impatiently, but he could wait.

He got home without incident and let himself into his apartment through the broken front door. He still needed to get that fixed. He knew he probably wouldn’t until he eventually moved out.

Jean changed out of his court clothes and into something that was casual without being sloppy. He felt like absolute shit, but that didn’t mean he wanted to look that way too, not in front of Marco.

He was ready to go an hour and a half before he needed to be. He considered turning on the news to see what they were saying about his case, what new accusations they’d developed to explain away the outcome. 

No matter what had happened, Jean would still be blamed. He would still be called a killer, a bad cop, a racist. 

Wisely, he chose not to bother with the TV. He sat on the couch, stared at the wall, and tried his best to think of absolutely nothing.


	34. Chapter 34

At eight o’clock sharp Jean and Armin walked into Eren’s condo, which was already more populated than Jean was entirely comfortable with. When Jaeger had said the shift would be in attendance, plus a few others, Jean had assumed it would be a small gathering.

His assumption had been horribly wrong.

“Kirschtein!” Hitch swaggered up to him and slung an arm over his shoulders. She had to stand on her extreme tiptoes in order to reach. Her grin was all teeth, like a shark. “Good to see you walking free. I thought you’d be in stripes by now.”

“Fuck off, Hitch.”

“Tone down the asshole attitude,” she said, scrunching her face in distaste. “This is a party. Here, you clearly need some alcohol.”

She pressed a cliché red solo cup into his hand and tottered off in the other direction. She promptly stole another drink from Marlow, her fellow dispatcher, who protested as Hitch chugged his beer.

The atmosphere could have been compared to the occasional college party that Jean had attended before he’d dropped out to go to the Academy. There was less shouting and less revealing clothing, but the biggest difference was that it was Monday night and some of these idiots probably had to work the next morning.

One of said idiots approached with a spring in her step, scooping Jean into a spine-cracking hug.

“Sasha,” he grumbled, trying to extract himself. “Are you drunk again?”

She backed off enough to scowl up at him, effectively answering that question. “No, you asshole. I’m just happy for you. Learn to accept affection.”

She shoved him in the shoulder lightly and stormed off, though Jean felt she was feigning the air of offense. When she plopped back onto the couch beside Connie she looked perfectly at ease.

Armin nudged Jean in the side gently, making just enough contact to get his attention. When Jean glanced at him, Armin pointed across the room. Jean followed the gesture and found Marco standing against the far wall, unfortunately accompanied by Mina the medic.

As badly as Jean wanted to avoid her, he wanted to be close to Marco even more. With his gifted beer in hand he slid through the crowd, stopping to speak to the occasional individual who wanted to comment on court or the case or Jean’s life in general. He tried to be patient and polite, but by the time Reiner slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh, Jean’s tolerance was beginning to wane.

“I thought you were going down for that one, Kirschtein,” said Reiner with a grin nearly as wide as his massive shoulders. “Glad you dug your way out of it.”

“Thanks for the confidence,” said Jean, the words snapping a little more than they should have. “Have to go. Looking for someone.”

He slunk away and managed to make it to Marco with no more interruptions. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, leaning against the wall beside Marco. He felt Mina’s stare but refused to look at her. Instead he stared blankly out at the crowd, wondering how many more of them would feel inclined to approach him about something they couldn’t possibly understand. 

“Hey,” Marco returned, his smile faltering a little. “You remember Mina, right?”

The half-introduction forced Jean to look at her. Mina didn’t look overly pleased, but she didn’t appear to have the same scalding resentment toward him that she’d expressed prior. 

“Yeah,” said Jean. “Hey, Mina.”

She nodded at him before returning her attention to Marco. “I’m going to find Daz,” she said. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” She glanced at Jean one last time before retreating, her gaze slightly skeptical rather than overtly judgmental. Jean supposed that was an improvement.

Jean transferred his cup to his left hand and reached out with his right, slipping his fingers between Marco’s before he over-thought the gesture and talked himself out of it. He took a nonchalant sip of Hitch’s beer, Marco’s stare boring into the side of his head.

“Does this mean we’re official?” said Marco, the hint of a smile evident in his tone.

Jean shrugged. “If you want to be. If not then this is kind of awkward.”

Marco laughed under his breath and squeezed Jean’s fingers. “Of course. I didn’t know if you were out to all your friends or not.”

“It’s not something I hide. If you’d rather not be so open about it though we can-”

“No,” said Marco, denying the suggestion. “I’m okay with it. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“There he is!” Jaeger tilted into Jean’s personal space, weaseling his way in between him and Marco and slinging an arm around each of them. “I bought cheap beer for all these losers. The good stuff is under the sink if you’re interested. Just don’t pass it around, I’m not sharing the expensive shit with everyone. You can help yourself too, Marco. Anyone who’s banging Kirschtein is a friend of mine.”

Jean ducked from beneath Eren’s arm and gave him a hard shove. “Back the fuck off, Jaeger. You’re drunk.”

“I am not!” Eren insisted. Anyone else may have been fooled, but the southern drawl dripping from Jaeger’s voice like thick honey gave him away. “I’m stone cold fuckin’ sober. I’m just glad to see you guys. You make a nice couple, look how fuckin’ adorable you are.”

“Where’s Mikasa?” said Jean, ignoring Eren’s comment. “She should’ve cut you off by now. It’s too early to be this drunk.”

“She’s around,” he said with a shrug. “Probably sitting in a corner with Levi somewhere. They’re both absolutely thrilled to be here. Hey, you came with Armin, right? Have you seen him?”

“Not since we came in.”

“Well I’m going to go find him,” said Jaeger. “But seriously, don’t share my good liquor. It’s for bros only.”

“Bros?” Jean repeated as he wandered away. 

“When did Eren and Armin start dating?” said Marco.

“They’re not.” Jean turned toward Marco, eyebrows raised.

“Oh. Nevermind then,” said Marco with a shrug. “There’s pizza in the kitchen, do you want some?”

“Not really. The only reason I came to this stupid party is because you were going to be here.”

Marco’s hand found Jean’s again and it was the biggest comfort Jean had felt in days. 

Jean knew that this ridiculous get-together was for him. He knew he should try to enjoy it, that he should appreciate that all of the people present supported him. He could at least pretend to be happy in front of them. He could pretend to be having a good time.

Instead he tugged on Marco’s hand and led him across the room, toward the closed door on the back wall. Marco followed without argument, for which Jean was grateful. 

He pushed open the door and stepped in, waiting until Marco was inside before shutting them inside. Jean slapped at the wall until he found a light switch. When he turned it on there was a pair of beady black eyes watching him from across Eren’s room, most of the furry body hidden on the other side of the bed.

“Hey, Diesel,” said Jean, releasing Marco’s fingers so he could hold his hand out to the dog. “You hate parties too?”

The dog gradually crept from his spot in the corner and butted his head against Jean’s palm. Jean scratched behind his ears for a few minutes before stepping around him and dropping onto the edge of Eren’s bed.

“So what’s going on with your mom?” he asked as Marco sat beside him. “You haven’t updated me in a few days. You didn’t have to drive back just for court, you know, although I’m glad you did. I’m not sure I would’ve made it otherwise.”

“You would’ve been just fine,” said Marco with a gentle smile. He leaned over Jean to place his cup on the nightstand. “I would’ve come in tomorrow anyway. Mom died on Saturday. We buried her this afternoon. That’s why I was late for court. I would’ve been here early for moral support otherwise. Sorry about that.”

Jean suddenly couldn’t remember why being forced to attend this party was such a big deal. He didn’t have anything to complain about. Marco’s _mom_ had just died and Jean was whining about the most inconsequential thing possible.

“Shit,” he said, silently berating himself for being an ass. “I’m sorry, Marco, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” said Marco. It sounded like he really meant it. “I told you before I left that we’ve been expecting it. She wasn’t doing well at all so it’s actually kind of a mercy.” “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I knew you’d try and find a way to get to Jinae,” said Marco with a smile. “You had your own problems do deal with here. I didn’t want to add to the list.”

“You know, it’s weird how you just assume I’m a good person.” 

“I don’t have to assume. I know you well enough to know that you are.”

Jean could’ve posed some serious arguments to combat that statement but chose to keep his mouth shut. If Marco wanted to blindly see the best in him then he wasn’t going to complain.

He reached for Marco’s hand again. 

“So you got to see her before it happened,” he said quietly. “Did she wake up? Did she know you?”

Marco shook his head and Jean immediately regretted the question.

“She woke up, but she didn’t recognize any of us, not even my sisters,” said Marco. To Jean’s surprise he was still smiling, as if the recollection wasn’t heart-wrenchingly painful. “She was lucid when I got there. I went in to see her and she just looked at me for a while. Then she told me I looked a lot like her son.” Marco laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. “She said she missed him and she didn’t know why he wouldn’t come see her. That was the last thing she thought about me. That I didn’t want to see her.” His smile turned into a pained grimace. Jean immediately scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words a low murmur. “You were there for her, though, even if she didn’t know it. That’s what matters. You couldn’t have done anything about it.”

“I know,” said Marco. His voice was thick but he swallowed past his emotions, keeping them neatly in check. “I know that.”

“You should’ve stayed with your family longer. You didn’t have to come back here for me.”

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. You’re important to me too, Jean.”

Jean felt his face heat up. He kept his head turned slightly away from Marco, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He was still trying to think of an acceptable response when the door opened.

“Diesel, c’mere buddy, I got you some… Oh shit. You should’ve put a sock on the door or something.”

“Shut up, Jaeger.”

Diesel pranced across the room, the stub of his tail wagging at the scent wafting from the plate in Eren’s hand.

“You are not feeding that dog pizza,” said Jean, narrowing his eyes at Eren.

“Don’t be stupid.” Jaeger stepped further into the room where Jean could see the heap of mush on the plate. “It’s this fancy ass dog food that Diesel likes. It’s higher quality than half the shit I eat.”

He knelt to offer Diesel the food, leaving the plate on the hardwood floor. When he stood he tossed a leer in Jean and Marco’s direction. 

“You kids have fun,” he said. “Just don’t get too crazy. I have to sleep there, you know.”

Marco seemed a little flustered but Jean was utterly unaffected by Jaeger’s comments. He just rolled his eyes as Eren left the room and closed the door behind him.

“He’s joking, right?” asked Marco.

“Hell, I don’t know. Honestly he probably wouldn’t be offended if someone fucked in his bed. He’d probably be more upset that he wasn’t invited.”

Marco laughed and this time it was genuine, untainted by tragedy.

“Hey,” said Jean, “you want to sneak out of this stupid party? I think you’re only here to be polite and I’m only here because I knew Jaeger would drag me out of my apartment if I didn’t show up.”

“You don’t think anyone will notice we’re gone?”

“Jaeger’s the only one who will care,” said Jean, “and as long as he doesn’t see us leave he’ll think we’re still holed up in here. I mean, unless you just want to stay. If so that’s fine too.”

“That’s okay, we can go. Maybe, if you want, you could stay at my place. I’d rather not be alone tonight.”

Jean suddenly lost all control over the English language.

“If you’re not comfortable with it then that’s fine,” said Marco quickly, misinterpreting Jean’s hesitation. “I don’t have to, I can just-”

“No, no,” said Jean. “That’s great. I mean, that’s fine. We can do that. I’d like that.”

Marco relaxed a little. “Good,” he said. He leaned in and pressed a quick, chaste kiss against Jean’s lips. “Let’s go.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I missed a week, and I'm sorry. Please accept my apology of two chapters, one of which is shameless smut.

After a full week of having no transportation to speak of, Jean finally got to drive his car again. He couldn’t bring himself to completely enjoy it, however, because during the entire drive to Marco’s apartment Jean was obsessing over what exactly he’d meant when he’d invited Jean to stay the night.

His initial assumption had been of a sexual nature, but the more he thought about it the less likely it seemed. Marco’s mom had just died. He probably just wanted Jean there as a distraction, so he didn’t have to think about it. The invitation was probably innocent. He was reading too far into it, expecting too much.

Marco’s apartment was just as Jean remembered, if just a touch less organized. When Jean had been there for dinner everything had been absolutely perfect. Now there were signs that someone actually lived there; an untouched stack of mail on the counter, a few stray dishes lingering in the sink, a pair of remotes discarded haphazardly on the coffee table.

It felt more comfortable, more genuine.

“I don’t think it’s early enough for bed,” said Marco, checking the time. “Want to watch a movie or something?”

Some of Jean’s nervousness eased. This really was a harmless sleepover. He was expecting too much. Marco had just attended his mother’s burial service earlier that day. 

Obviously he still needed time to recover from that before he would be at all interested in extracurricular activities.

“Sure, that’s fine,” said Jean. He started toward the couch but Marco branched off in the other direction, toward a half-open door across from the kitchen counter.

“There’s a TV in my room, too,” said Marco, indicating the doorway. “It’s probably more comfortable in here, if you’re okay with that.”

“Of course,” said Jean, changing his course and following Marco into the bedroom. He had to remind himself that he was only there for Marco’s comfort. 

He was stopped just inside the room by the sight of Marco’s bed. It was probably three times the size of Jean’s, topped by a pile of pillows and layered in fluffy quilts that reflected the warm hues that comprised the rest of the apartment.

It did look much more comfortable than the couch.

Marco had stepped over to a wicker basket in the corner of the room and was shedding his clothes into it. He pulled his polo over his head, undershirt sticking to the fabric and riding halfway up his torso, giving Jean a shameless look at the back muscles shifting beneath smooth, dusky skin.

He wanted to look away. He tried to look away, but his eyes refused to cooperate.

Marco’s pants came off next, slithering down to pool at his ankles until the slacks were kicked off and tossed into the basket. Marco turned, dressed only in a thin white t-shirt and boxers, and Jean forced his gaze upward.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Marco wearing the exact same thing before, but the familiarity didn’t lessen the appeal.

“You can make yourself comfortable,” said Marco, unashamed. “Think of this as your home, too.”

“Right,” said Jean, as Marco turned down the layers of quilts to reveal soft cotton sheets beneath. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Marco stepped away and disappeared behind a door that Jean assumed was the bathroom. While he was gone Jean slipped out of some of his clothing, stripping to the same layers that Marco wore. That seemed like the most appropriate thing to do. 

He was glad he’d worn decent underwear.

He crawled into the bed and shimmied beneath the covers. The mattress was marvelous. It felt like he was lying on a cloud. 

He wouldn’t be able to sleep in his own shitty bed after this.

When Marco returned he paused to grab the remote that belonged to the television hanging on the opposite wall. Although the bed was massive and there was plenty of room, when Marco climbed in he settled right beside Jean, their shoulders brushing, the two of them propped against a couple of the abundant pillows. 

“What are you in the mood for?” said Marco, turning on the TV and opening a list of channels.

_I’m in the mood for fucking you into this utopian mattress._

“Whatever you want to watch is fine. I’m not picky.” 

Marco chose an action movie than Jean had never heard of. It was a better option than the stupid nature documentaries that Jaeger seemed to be fascinated with. 

Jean reclined on the pillows and kept his eyes on the screen, though he couldn’t have cared less about the movie. He was more concerned with the warm body beside him. It was difficult to pay attention to anything else when Marco was in the room. 

About twenty minutes into the film Jean couldn’t sit still anymore. He shifted and leaned his head on Marco’s shoulder, basking in the warmth of freckled flesh. Marco immediately moved. Jean thought for a moment that he was putting distance between them, but instead Marco’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Jean rested his cheek on Marco’s chest and closed his eyes, no longer bothering with the pretense of watching the television. He draped one of his arms across Marco’s stomach, enjoying the simple closeness. His body was pressed against Marco’s side and he commanded himself not to get a hard-on for any reason whatsoever.

That was the most peaceful that Jean had felt in a while. It was hard for him to remember that he had anything to worry about at all. Court felt like it had been months ago rather than a few hours. Something about being with Marco made everything else seem less important. It dulled the ache like Novocain. He could have stayed there for the rest of his life and been perfectly satisfied. 

“Hey, Jean?”

He felt the vibration of the words in Marco’s chest, flush against his face.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for staying with me,” said Marco. His hand moved, threading lightly through Jean’s hair. 

“Anytime,” he mumbled, the words slightly muffled. “I like it here.”

Marco chuckled. His fingers trailed away from Jean’s hair, ghosting along his temple, tracing the line of his jaw. His touch lingered beneath Jean’s chin, gentle pressure persuading Jean to raise his head. 

He was rewarded by the taste of Marco’s lips and again wondered how anyone could be so _warm_.

“I like you here, too,” Marco muttered against his lips before deepening the kiss. 

His movements were slow, gentle. One of his arms was still around Jean. His free hand explored, smoothing along the line of Jean’s shoulder, ruffling through his hair, tracing the length of his spine. His palm flattened against Jean’s lower back and he shifted him closer, pulling Jean on top of him.

Jean followed the physical prompts willingly, straddling Marco on his knees and pressing his hands on either side of Marco’s shoulders, bracing himself as he leaned down to again seek out Marco’s mouth.

Marco’s hands never left him. They traveled down his back again, the warmth of his touch seeping through thin cotton. When he reached Jean’s hips he stopped, fingers creeping beneath the hem of Jean’s t-shirt and sliding slowly up his sides.

Jean pulled his tongue away from Marco’s and put an inch of distance between them, staring down at him. He realized he was breathing more heavily than he remembered and that he’d disobeyed his own instructions about not getting hard.

Marco’s gaze was hazy, but his thoughts weren’t. He started retracting his hands from inside Jean’s t-shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean-”

“No,” said Jean, grabbing one of Marco’s arms and holding it in place. “Don’t.”

He didn’t know if this was going the direction he wanted. Maybe it was just a quick makeout session. Maybe that’s as far as it would go. 

Even if it was, he wanted to prolong it as long as possible.

It would be worth the residual blue balls.

Marco smiled a little before Jean again descended on him, their lips meeting with a little more force. Jean caught Marco’s lower lip between his teeth, earning a low moan that rushed directly to Jean’s dick. 

Marco flipped Jean off of him easily, an advantage of his size. With Jean pinned beneath him he felt his way further up Jean’s chest, searching palms grazing over his nipples and making Jean shudder. The way Marco kissed him was different, more urgent. 

Now that his own arms were free Jean took the liberty of touching Marco in return, feeling his wide shoulders and strong back and the hot skin underneath his shirt.

Marco broke away from the kiss, a string of saliva snapping between their lips, and pulled his own shirt over his head. He tossed it carelessly across the room and Jean only got a momentary eyeful of his bare chest before Marco was on him again, his tongue curling deliciously into Jean’s mouth. 

Jean tried to keep his less pure thoughts elsewhere. Maybe he was misinterpreting. Maybe Marco just wanted to kiss for a while and then go to bed. There was no clear insinuation that the two of them were going to do anything more.

Then Marco rolled his hips downward against Jean’s, sliding their hot, hard lengths against one another, and Jean let go of his disillusions.

Marco gripped the bottom of Jean’s shirt and inched it upward until it caught just beneath his armpits. Belatedly Jean raised his torso off of the bed and allowed Marco to yank it off and toss it away. 

Marco immediately moved to explore the newly exposed flesh, brushing his lips over Jean’s once more before nuzzling into his neck, nipping lightly, tongue smoothing over the sensitive skin. Then he slid down even more, pausing at Jean’s collarbone, doing things with his mouth that made Jean moan and buck upward into Marco’s hips.

They released twin groans at the contact, Marco’s muffled by Jean’s chest. He continued to travel down Jean’s body, grazing along a pale stomach that was scrawnier than Jean would have preferred, pausing at the band of his boxers. Marco slipped a single finger beneath the elastic, looking up at Jean as if asking for permission. 

Jean didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know if he was even capable of saying anything. So he just nodded and that was sufficient.

Marco dragged Jean’s boxers down over his hips slowly, gently, as if giving him adequate time to change his mind. As soon as Jean was completely exposed and more than a little self-conscious, Marco ducked his head and trailed his tongue along Jean’s length, making him throw his head back and bite down on an unattractive expletive.

Marco took Jean into his mouth gradually, as if savoring the experience. Jean clenched his hands in the sheets and did his best to brand this moment into his memories.

He didn’t know how many people Marco had slept with – they hadn’t even gotten close to touching that conversation – but it was immediately clear that he was anything but inexperienced. Even when Jean felt himself nudge at the back of Marco’s throat he didn’t flinch away. Marco hollowed his cheeks and let Jean slide slowly out of his mouth and it took all of Jean’s willpower not to climax right then.

“Holy shit, Marco,” he said, the phrase half spoken and half gasped. It wasn’t the most attractive thing to say, but Marco grinned around his mouthful and kept going.

After a few minutes of beautifully agonizing pleasure, Marco pulled away with a wet sucking sound and wiped his mouth off on his shoulder. He kept one hand firmly wrapped around Jean, who couldn’t stop himself from arching into the touch. With his free hand Marco reached for the nightstand that was nestled just beside the bed, blindly digging around inside as he continued to smoothly pump Jean up and down, rhythm unfaltering.

Jean couldn’t see what he was doing, but he had a pretty good guess. 

When Marco returned to his position between Jean’s legs he paused to slip his own underwear off. Jean propped himself up on his elbows and shamelessly raked his eyes over Marco’s freshly revealed nudity, wishing there was more illumination than the flickering TV screen. 

Then Marco’s mouth was on him again and he collapsed onto his back, flinging an arm over his face and biting down on another moan. 

A hand slipped between Jean’s legs, wet fingers nudging at him, and Jean found himself automatically adjusting his position to allow easier access. 

This wasn’t the routine that he was accustomed to. With Armin he’d always topped, and during the incident with Jaeger he’d done the same. This wasn’t written into the script, but Jean couldn’t find a reason to complain as Marco steadily slipped past his resistance and began exploring him from the inside.

He kept his mouth on Jean the entire time in some capacity, whether it was lightly sucking on his tip or mouthing along his length or just flicking his tongue against him in a way that was delightfully maddening. It helped Jean relax into the other sensations as Marco spread him open, pushing in a second finger and then a third, going about the process with careful, unrushed delicacy. 

When Marco slid his fingers out and sat up onto his knees, his eyes hooded and looking only at Jean, the sudden lack of contact was absolute torture.

Marco pushed his hair back with his clean hand, wiping at the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Think you’re ready?” he asked, his voice deep and throaty. He ran a hand up the inside of a pale thigh and Jean shuddered.

“Yeah,” he said, the word choked. He swallowed and tried again. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Marco smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile that was usually stamped across his face. This one was curved, _wicked_ , and it made Jean’s dick twitch.

Jean watched with unwavering attention as Marco expertly tore open the condom that he’d retrieved from the nightstand. He rolled it on slowly, as if he was enjoying the way that Jean’s eyes followed every movement. He drizzled lube into his palm and spread it liberally, his wrist rolling slowly with the motion.

“You know,” said Jean, trying to force a measure of confidence into his voice. He was unsuccessful. “I never thought you’d be the teasing type.”

“I’m not a tease,” said Marco with a grin that said otherwise. “I just like to look at you.”

Jean’s face got hotter than it already was. It felt like the sunburn he’d gotten at the beach in the seventh grade that had left him miserable for two weeks.

If Marco was the one burning him, he’d gladly lay back and take it.

Marco crawled closer, his arms on either side of Jean’s torso, slick length nudging against Jean’s stretched entrance. He leaned forward, seeking out Jean’s mouth with his own, working their lips together like they were made to fit together. Slowly he pressed himself into Jean and pushed inside, still kissing Jean through the gasp that parted his lips and allowed Marco to flick his tongue against the roof of Jean’s mouth. 

He took it slowly. Jean appreciated his concern but it was also somewhat maddening. He found himself arching against Marco, trying to speed him up, but Marco didn’t cave. He kept his own pace and a moment later he was completely inside of Jean, the two of them panting into each others’ mouths.

“Fuck.” The word slipped out of Jean’s mouth before he could bite it back. He was stretched nearly to the point of pain, but he thrived on the sensation. It was perfect. Marco was perfect. He glanced down at the point where their bodies were joined and then looked back to Marco’s face, hovering over his own. Marco’s dark eyes were smoldering, his hair tousled in an attractive disarray. In the low light his freckles blended into dark skin, but Jean knew they were there. He brushed his fingertips over Marco’s cheek, then threaded his fingers into a thick curl of hair and pulled their faces together.

Their lips slid together and their tongues clashed, and Marco pulled out of Jean and slowly pressed his way back inside, hips rocking forward at a measured pace.

Jean groaned, a combination of arousal and frustration. In the middle of Marco’s next slow thrust, Jean bucked his hips upward and both of them moaned at the jolt of contact. 

Marco gripped Jean’s hip, as if to steady him, and started moving with more intent. He slid smoothly in and out of Jean, muscles bunching enticingly beneath dusky flesh. Jean gripped Marco’s shoulders and rocked along with his thrusts, his hot gasps dripping from his swollen lips.

Marco shifted the angle, raising Jean’s hips slightly, then altered his own posture until a sharp cry of pleasure leapt from Jean’s mouth and fingernails dug into the muscles of Marco’s shoulders.

“There?” asked Marco, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Jean mumbled a string of curses before again pulling Marco into a kiss, if only to wipe that smug smile off of his face.

Marco kept thrusting until Jean was a writhing mess, struggling to keep all of his embarrassing sounds from leaking into the charged air. He only partially succeeded. 

When Marco released his hip to curl his hand around Jean’s length, the battle was lost.

Broken sounds cracked in Jean’s throat, and although he knew whatever was coming out of his mouth was unattractive, he couldn’t muster the willpower to care.

He lost himself beneath Marco’s touch, swaddled in Marco’s sheets with Marco’s scent around him and the sight of Marco’s face swimming in his vision.

Marco was everywhere, and he wouldn’t have asked for anything else.

This was different than all the times before, and not because Jean was on the bottom. Being with Armin had been like cradling glass, terrified that one wrong move would leave it shattered. Eren was like a fire, something wild and brutal that had wiped Jean’s mind and left nothing behind.

Marco was warm and strong and stable. He wouldn’t break, but he wouldn’t destroy, either. Marco would only strengthen him, and that was exactly what Jean needed.

He came with Marco’s name on his lips like a prayer. The sensation washed over him in a white wave, leaving a buzzing static in his ears. Jean was a boneless pool of pleasure, and only a moment later Marco joined him.

They laid there for a moment, the sound of a dramatic car chase playing in the background as the movie continued, heedless that they no longer watched.

When Marco rolled out of bed Jean wanted to ask where he was going, but couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t necessary, anyway. Marco returned almost immediately and tossed a towel in his direction.

Jean tried to catch it, but his coordination was running at the speed of a Buick with four flats. The towel slapped him in the face and Marco chuckled from across the room.

Jean managed to sit up a little, removing the towel and regaining his vision. The towel was just as comforting as everything else in Marco’s apartment; fluffy, lush, and used just enough to be worn in. 

He tidied himself up and threw the towel toward the laundry hamper against the wall just as Marco climbed back into bed.

Jean didn’t protest as he was wrapped in a summer-warm embrace. He curled against Marco’s chest and just breathed him in, more at peace than he could remember feeling in his entire life.

“Thanks,” mumbled Marco, his voice muffled by Jean’s hair.

“What for?”

“I don’t know. Just being you, I guess.”

Jean snorted at the cliché and nuzzled deeper into Marco’s chest.

“If I’d known this was what you were planning I would’ve skipped the party altogether,” said Jean.

“I wasn’t planning it,” said Marco. Jean heard the smile in his voice. “It just sort of happened.”

“Well I hope it just sort of happens again soon.”

Marco laughed, light and carefree, and Jean smiled against dark skin.

It didn’t matter that he’d had the worst day of his life. It didn’t matter what he’d done, or what he’d been through, or what may have been waiting for him tomorrow.

Right now, entangled with Marco, Jean was home, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a happy ending for this story, this would be a good stopping point.


	36. Chapter 36

That night Jean slept better than he had in months. He woke up a couple of times, nuzzled closer to Marco, and immediately fell back asleep.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that the nightmares started.

Jean woke in a cold sweat, sheets coiled around his limbs like cobras. He writhed in their grip, trying to break free, the phantasmic blood still sticking to the inside of his eyelids. 

He sat bolt upright, breathing as if he’d just finished a half-marathon, saliva sticking to the corners of his mouth. 

He’d gotten used to the nightmares. Usually he could manage them, but this time the dream had been different. This time there were more corpses, all created by Jean’s negligence. This time he couldn’t lie to himself and say it had been justified. This time it didn’t matter that there were hundreds of people standing around staring at him, accusing him. 

This time Jean knew without question that he was responsible for the death of Eli Stokes. It didn’t matter that the court had declared that he was not at fault. Jean knew he should have done something differently. He should have prevented it.

He really was a murderer.

And they were giving him the chance to do it again.

Whatever solace he’d found in Marco’s presence the night before, whatever rosy pink hue that had painted his world, was now dripping in shades of black.

He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. He curled in on himself and tried to banish the recurrent thought that circled his head, burrowing into his brain, screaming: _Murderer_.

“Jean?” the voice came from across the room. Jean hadn’t even noticed that he was alone in the bed. “Did you say something? I… Jean?”

The mattress compressed beneath Marco’s weight and he wrapped his arms around the defensive ball that was Jean. 

“What’s wrong? You’re shaking. Are you… are you crying?”

Jean sucked in a trembling breath and tried to say no, that he wasn’t, but the words lodged in his throat. He choked on a sob and curled into himself more tightly, not wanting Marco to see him like that, not wanting Marco to think he was weak. 

“It’s okay,” said Marco. He wrapped himself around Jean, pulling him into his chest, his breath warm on the back of Jean’s neck. 

Jean should have pushed him away. He could deal with this himself, he’d dealt with everything himself. But the warmth was soaking into his back and Marco’s voice was so soothing that he couldn’t. He just buried his face and failed to hold down the sobs that shook his body.

It took longer for Jean to calm down than he was entirely proud of. Finally, when the crying had tapered into sniffles, he moved, wiping the tears off of his face so Marco wouldn’t see. It didn’t really matter at that point, though. He couldn’t exactly hide what a disaster he was, not after a display like that.

He didn’t want to face Marco. He was afraid of the pity or disgust or mockery he might see. When he forced himself to roll over and saw nothing on Marco’s freckle-spattered face except for concern, he reminded himself who he was dealing with. Marco wouldn’t judge him for this. Marco was a good person.

Unlike Jean.

“Hey,” whispered Marco, as if afraid speaking loudly would startle him. He threaded his fingers through Jean’s hair, keeping him close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jean really didn’t, but he figured he at least owed Marco an explanation for getting tears and snot all over his bed.

“I had a dream,” he said. That was the simplest excuse and it wasn’t entirely a lie. 

“What about?”

“The shooting.” He lowered his gaze, fixing his eyes at a point around Marco’s collarbone. He was wearing a shirt. He must have gotten up earlier and dressed.

“I’m sorry, Jean.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He extracted himself from Marco. As soon as he did he felt cold, isolated. He sat up and hunched over, picking absently at the quilt beneath him just to have something to do with his hands. “This is a shitty way to wake up at your place.”

“It’s okay, Jean. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, actually. It is a big deal. I’m fucked up, Marco. I’m totally and completely fucked up and you shouldn’t have to deal with it. You’re a good person. You don’t deserve my shit.”

Marco didn’t immediately answer, and for a horrifying moment he feared Marco was going to agree. He didn’t want things to end, but it was probably for the best, for Marco’s sake.

“It wasn’t just the dream,” Marco finally said, his voice low. “Tell me what’s really wrong.”

Jean’s voice caught on a sticky laugh. “They’re letting me go back on patrol tomorrow,” he said, glancing at Marco through the mess of blond hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Can you believe that?”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“It was. It is. But I killed someone and they’re just putting a gun back in my hand. They’re fucking idiots, all of them.” His bitter grin faltered and he looked back at the quilt beneath him. “They can’t trust me now, not after what happened.”

“Of course they can, Jean.” He felt Marco shift closer but he didn’t touch him, not quite. “You’re a good officer. No one could have prevented that situation. You did what you had to do. You didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” The statement was a mangled whisper. Jean lowered his head and clenched his fingers in his own hair. 

“They’ve cleared you to go back on duty, though,” said Marco. “You went through all the steps, you got a clean mental eval, your therapist said that you-”

“Rico didn’t know shit,” said Jean. “Everything I said to her was a lie. If I’d told her the truth they never would’ve put me back on duty. They shouldn’t have hired me to start with. If they hadn’t then none of this would’ve happened. _Fuck_.”

“Jean, stop.” Marco’s hands enveloped his, gently prying his fingers away from his hair before he pulled it out. “Look at me. _Jean_.”

Jean sucked in a breath and did as instructed, lifting his head to meet Marco’s dark eyes. He remembered those eyes looking down at him the night before, hazy with pleasure. It had been perfect. Everything with Marco was perfect. Why did Jean have to go and fuck it up now?

“It’s not something that’s going to happen again,” said Marco, holding Jean’s gaze. “You’re a good man, Jean. You’re a good man who had to make a hard decision. That’s why this is so hard for you to deal with.”

Jean shook his head and tried to look away, but Marco caught his face in a firm grip, holding him in place.

“I trust you,” he said, so close that Jean could feel the words against his lips. “I would trust you with my life. You’re not going to hurt anyone.”

Jean swallowed. He wanted to argue, but Marco’s expression was leaving no room for disagreements. So he nodded instead and Marco released him, scooting back slightly to give Jean some breathing room. 

“That’s why they’re letting you go back to your job,” he said. “Because they trust you.”

Jean just nodded again.

There was a pause that dragged on a little too long. Jean was very aware that his eyes were puffy and he probably looked like a complete wreck. Marco would probably decide he didn’t like Jean after all since he was such a crybaby.

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Marco repeated, “but you know you don’t have to go back to patrol, right?”

Jean blinked. He couldn’t follow Marco’s train of thought. “What?”

“If you’re not comfortable going back,” explained Marco, “then don’t. There are hundreds of other things you could do. Don’t go back to something that’s just going to make things worse. What you went through isn’t an easy thing to bounce back from. Sometimes it’s best to just break away. So you’re not reminded of it every time you show up for work or every time you strap on your gun. Maybe doing something else is best for you.”

Marco was giving him too much credit.

“I can’t do anything else,” said Jean. “This is the only thing I’ve ever done. I was too stupid for college. I barely got through the academy courses. My skill set consists of police work. That’s it. And obviously I can’t even do that right.”

“That’s not true.” Marco’s voice had a steel edge that caught Jean off guard. “You can do anything you want. Don’t go back and do this because you feel like you don’t have a choice. If you’re going back then do it because you want to. If you don’t then don’t. You have a good future, Jean. Whether it’s working with the police department or doing something else is up to you.”

Jean felt a pang of affection. Marco didn’t understand. Marco really thought he was a good person, thought he was smart and able and talented.

Marco was blind.

“I want to do it,” said Jean, choosing to circumvent that minefield. “I’m a police officer. That’s my identity. I want to be there for my shift. They’re shit without me. I don’t know how the city’s still standing after this long.”

That made Marco smile a little and it suited his face much better than the sternness of a moment before.

“It’s not going back that’s bothering me,” said Jean. If he pretended it was the truth then maybe Marco wouldn’t think he was lying. “I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ve been sitting on my ass for weeks. I’m just afraid of getting caught in the same situation, you know? I’m afraid it will happen again.”

“It won’t,” said Marco. He sounded so confident that Jean almost believed him. “That was the first time anything like that happened here in ten years. That means everything will be fine for ten more, or maybe longer.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sure it does.” Marco took Jean’s face between both of his palms and kissed him. 

Before he could pull away Jean leaned forward, prolonging the feeling of Marco’s mouth moving against his own.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “This is shitty of me. Your mom just died. I’m the one who should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“I told you I’m fine,” said Marco. “Besides, just because someone else is having problems doesn’t undermine the importance of your own.”

That sounded like some kind of quote, but Jean couldn’t place it.

“We can take care of each other,” Marco continued. “I’m here for you, Jean. No matter what. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” said Jean, although he couldn’t imagine what good he’d ever done in his life to deserve Marco. “I know.”

“I’m making breakfast,” he said. “Pretty much the only thing I have is eggs, though.”

“That’s fine. I like eggs.”

“Great.” Marco graced him with one of his angelic smiles and climbed out of bed. “Come on then.”

“I’ll be there in just a minute,” said Jean. “Bathroom.”

“Alright then. I’ll keep yours warm.”

When he was gone Jean crept out of bed, picking his shirt up out of the floor before heading to the connecting bathroom.

He shut the door and stood in front of the mirror for a while, just looking at himself. His face looked worse than he’d thought, his eyes red-rimmed and miserable. After the night he’d had with Marco he should’ve woken up to the best morning of his life. 

Instead he was so dysfunctional that he couldn’t even allow himself to have a normal morning-after.

He raked his hair away from his forehead and it stood up in unruly tufts. He would have to get it trimmed before he reported for duty the following evening. It was no longer up to standard.

He took a moment to consider the following day when he would again be working with his shift. He should’ve felt a twinge of excitement, a burst of eagerness. It was what he’d been waiting for ever since he’d been exiled from patrol. It was the only thing he’d wanted.

Now that he was getting it, he didn’t feel as thrilled as he’d expected. The most prominent sensation was a healthy dose of anxiety.

That would pass, though. He was worried about fucking up, but that would pass. 

He couldn’t give it up after everything that had happened. He’d been fighting for the privilege of returning to patrol this entire time. If he’d wanted to quit he could’ve done it at the beginning and saved himself a load of trouble. He couldn’t give up now, no matter how nauseous he was at the thought of strolling around with a gun on his hip. He couldn’t back out after the other members of his shift had been nothing but supportive. He couldn’t let them down. He couldn’t let _himself_ down. 

Besides, Eren Jaeger would never let him hear the end of it if he quit.

Jean slapped some cold water on his face, pulled himself together, and headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t going to let this ruin his time with his boyfriend. Marco deserved better than a sniveling moron who couldn’t even have one bad dream without experiencing a minor breakdown.

He would do better. He would _be_ better.

He would be good enough for Marco, even if it killed him.


	37. Chapter 37

The patrol shift started at seventeen-hundred hours sharp.

Jean was at the PD half an hour early. He’d been ready longer than that, sitting on his couch for about forty-five minutes in full uniform, waiting for five o’clock to roll around so he could leave. Finally he couldn’t take the wait anymore and he’d left early.

He dropped into a chair in the vacant patrol room, nursing a cup of shitty coffee that had probably been sitting in the office since before lunch. 

Jean wasn’t nervous about working that night. He wasn’t nervous at all. Any shaking that his fingers were doing was a result of the sudden influx of caffeine. It was science. 

“Kirschtein!”

The sudden shout and the impact on his shoulder nearly made Jean jump out of his chair. He covered his surprised with a scowl, snapping at Eren as soon as he plopped into the chair beside him.

“The fuck, Jaeger? Don’t creep up like that.”

Eren snorted. “Dude, it’s impossible to creep in these boots.” He clomped them against the floor to emphasize his point. “You were spaced out. What’re you thinking about?”

“Where to hide your body so no one will find it,” said Jean, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Why are you here so early? You’re always at least ten minute late.”

He expected to receive a snide comment in return but Eren didn’t immediately respond. Instead he shifted in his chair, leaning back casually and crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced at the doorway once to make sure there was no one there to overhear.

“I just came a little early,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes I’m early. It’s not a big deal.”

His voice went half an octave higher. Jean knew immediately that Eren was lying. He’d always been terrible at it.

Lying to a seasoned police officer was stupid anyway.

“You’re full of shit,” said Jean. He scuffed the tread of his boot over the shined toe of Eren’s, eliciting an outraged whine. “Why are you really here?”

“You’re here before shift starts too, asshole.” He bent over, scrubbing at his shoe with the heel of his hand. “Why are you early?”

“Stop deflecting the question,” said Jean, a phrase that he hadn’t been able to employ lately. It was one of his favorite things to say to suspects when they tried to change the subject. It made him sound smart. 

Eren rolled his eyes and sat up, swiveling from side to side in the desk chair. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, “but I had to meet with someone. It’s classified.”

Jean could practically see the bullshit dripping out of Eren’s ears. If it was really something important Jaeger would have been dying to share the information. He couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

For a long moment Jean analyzed him, narrowing his eyes at Eren’s suddenly blank expression. Jaeger couldn’t lie for shit, but he had a flawless poker face.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a comment that Marco had made a couple of days before suddenly echoed back, one that Jean had discarded almost immediately. Paired with Eren’s suspicious behavior and the lack of people that he could be meeting at the PD, Jean started to wonder if maybe Marco had been more observant than he’d been given credit for.

“You came early to talk to Armin, right?” said Jean. “He started back on his Investigations work today.”

Eren’s mouth didn’t fall open, but it was a near thing. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“The same way I know you guys are dating,” said Jean. He stated it as if it were fact, watching Eren’s face carefully as the rumor rolled off his tongue.

Jaeger’s jaw went slack. Something flickered in his expression that almost looked like guilt.

“He said he wasn’t going to tell you,” said Eren, the quiet words reflecting the hurt he felt at the suggestion.

“Of course he didn’t, you idiot,” said Jean, rolling his eyes. “You really think Armin would spill a secret? He’s not you. His mouth doesn’t work faster than his brain.”

“We’re not officially dating,” Eren clarified. He rubbed at the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “We’ve just kind of… talked about it, I guess. He said…” His eyes flicked to Jean once, quickly, before again retreating. He paused, as if steeling himself to say something. “He said one of the reasons he left patrol was because of the dating rule. Because we’d never been able to try it before and he thought maybe… Anyway, I fucked that up when I stopped talking to him, but now… I was going to tell you.” This time Eren’s stare was direct, burning. “I was going to tell you before anything happened. We haven’t fucked or anything, we’ve just talked.” He paused before repeating himself one more time, to make sure the message was clear: “I was going to tell you first.”

Marco had been right after all.

“It’s fine,” said Jean, shrugging off the information as if it didn’t bother him. If he was honest with himself, it really didn’t; at least not as much as he would have expected. Jean had gotten over Armin quickly, so he wasn’t jealous of Eren. He’d had a strange, abnormal relationship with Eren, too. He was slightly jealous of Armin if anything. He’d had a good time with Eren. Jaeger was someone he could trust. 

But so was Marco.

Jean had chosen Marco, and he couldn’t find a shred of regret for it. He would make the same decision a hundred times. Marco was what he needed. Marco was someone he could rely on, someone who could accept his flaws and help mend them. 

Marco would always be his first choice.

Of more concern was the knowledge that Armin had been the one that nearly got Jean sent to prison. If Armin hadn’t changed his mind and fixed the camera, Jean would’ve been in a jumpsuit, and orange had never been his color.

Clearly Eren knew nothing about Armin’s antics or he would never had considered dating him. Saying that Eren would be pissed was an understatement. He would be _furious_ , and Jean wasn’t completely sure Armin would come out of it physically unscathed.

But if he ever found out, Jean wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

“Really?” said Eren, as if suspicious of the easy acceptance. “I mean, you’re not mad at all? We haven’t fucked yet, but that’s only because I didn’t feel right about it without talking to you first. You’re okay with us fucking? And dating, or whatever people do? You’re not pissed?”

“Of course I’m not, why would I be?”

“Because he’s your ex-boyfriend. Friends don’t date friends’ exes.”

“It’s cool,” said Jean, shrugging again. “I’m not worried about it.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“Dude, you’re the biggest asshole I know. You must be super fucking into Marco if you’re just acting like this isn’t even a big deal.”

“Do you want me to be mad? I can throw a tantrum if you want.”

“It might make me feel better,” Eren grumbled. He slid a little further into his chair. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, you know. It just kind of did. It’s different than it was before, you know? It’s different than when we worked patrol together.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re slightly less than of an ass than you used to be.”

“Fuck you, Kirschtein.”

“Have you told Levi yet?”

Eren went from relieved to defensive so quickly that Jean didn’t have time to blink.

“Why would I? It’s none of his business.”

“Whatever. You don’t want him to know because you’ve had a crush on Captain since you got assigned to this shift.”

“Shut the fuck up! That’s not true at all!”

His voice went a full octave higher than usual and Jean smirked.

“What are you idiots doing?”

Eren swiveled toward the door so fast that he nearly knocked himself out of his chair. Levi glared at him from the doorway, routinely fitting his earpiece into place.

“Nothing, Captain, sir. Just talking.”

Jean turned away from both of them and pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh.

Mikasa and Annie arrived shortly after. Levi didn’t say anything about the new lineup, for which Jean was grateful. He didn’t want to attract attention to the fact that it was his first night back on duty. Then his fellow officers may look at him a little more closely. They might notice the slight pallor that paled his complexion even more than usual and the quiver that he couldn’t quite shake off.

But that was just from the coffee.

“Alright, get out there and do the city proud,” said Levi when the clock hit five and he promptly left the patrol room. “And by that I mean don’t do anything stupid. Especially you, Jaeger.”

Eren scowled after him and Jean couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, Jaeger,” he said. He stood and slapped Eren on the back, the impact dull against the bulletproof vest beneath his uniform. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks,” said Jean. “I took care of that before I got here.”

He was almost out the door before Eren had registered what he’d said.

“You and Marco fucked?” he said, voice cresting a shout. “Get your ass back here and tell me how it was! Did he top? He totally seems like a top!”

Jean flipped him off over his shoulder and continued outside. The small cluster of cruisers was waiting in the police-only parking lot just outside the PD. Jean’s car was there and he smiled a little at the sight of it. He’d picked it up the day before. He loved his Mustang, but there was something about the Impala that was just different. He’d been through some crazy shit in that car.

“Kirschtein.” Levi slammed the back of his Explorer shut, taking the two steps to the bumper of Jean’s car. “You feeling okay about patrol?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because when I was in your shoes I couldn’t even look at a fucking gun for months without wanting to puke.”

Jean grazed the grip of his Glock with the heel of his hand. It had always been a comforting weight on his hip. It felt heavier than usual now, as if it was dragging him down. That was probably just because he was not longer used to wearing it.

“I’m fine, Captain. They cleared me for duty.”

“Doesn’t matter if they cleared you. You’re the only one who knows if you’re ready for this or not.”

Jean pretended that anxiety wasn’t sucking at his intestines like a colony of ringworms and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

“Alright then,” said Levi. “Like I told Jaeger, don’t do anything stupid. If you need me I’ll be there in two minutes, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

With that Levi turned and stomped back to his Explorer. Jean followed his example and climbed into his own vehicle, smoothing his fingers along the curve of the steering wheel and basking in the nostalgia. 

“Suck it up, Kirschtein,” he murmured to himself as he started the car. He pulled out right behind Levi but they branched off in different directions at the first intersection. “Don’t be a little bitch.”

For the first hour of the shift there was no radio traffic to speak of. Jean just drove around the familiar streets of his zone, knuckles white on the wheel as he waited for the inevitable service call. Gradually he began to relax. He was being ridiculous, after all. Even if a call came in he had no reason to be on edge. It was his job. He’d done it for years. One incident didn’t erase all of his experience.

When the radio finally crackled at six-fifteen, Jean jumped and accidentally slammed his foot on the brake. Luckily there were no cars behind him and he tried to inconspicuously resume his previous driving speed.

The call wasn’t even for him. It was for Annie, a simple BOLO for someone wandering around in a street in the middle of her zone. Jean recognized the description that dispatch provided. It was old lady Thurman. She had about six different mental disorders and tended to roam around in the road and scream profanities at passing vehicles. She wasn’t a danger, just a nuisance. Annie would tell her to head home and there would be no further problems.

Jean knew everything about his city and he knew how to do his job. He was stressed out over nothing. 

It was about twenty minutes later when Jean got his first call of the night. An alarm had been activated at a nearby restaurant. Ninety percent of the time the alarms were triggered by accident and in this case that pattern was repeated. He arrived, did a walkthrough of the building, confirmed that there was no suspicious activity, and cleared the call. He felt a little better after that. Nothing terrible was going to happen. The shooting incident was a one-time thing. 

Nothing bad was going to happen.

At around one-thirty in the morning the radio crackled with static before a dispatcher’s voice came through clearly. “403, Headquarters.”

Jean’s heart did an uncomfortable little skip. He reached for the speaker and responded. “403.”

“Code eleven, please.”

His heart stuttered again and sank into the floor. He fumbled with the radio dials for a moment before successfully setting it to the correct frequency, the private one that civilians with police scanners couldn’t access.

“Go ahead on eleven,” said Jean, fingers wrapped too tightly around the speaker. He pulled into a vacant parking lot, staring blankly out the windshield as he waited.

“We’re getting a call from the Bristow Apartments,” said the dispatcher, her voice strained. “A female caller stated she just left her boyfriend’s apartment. He lives in number 15. She said he has a history of mental problems and has stopped taking his medication. She stated he has a gun in his possession and she left because she didn’t feel safe. His name is Randal Oakes. Police have been called several times to this location for both suicidal and homicidal threats.”

Jean waited too long to reply. He hadn’t quite realized that the dispatcher had stopped talking. He swallowed and pressed the button on the speaker, stating simply, “Ten-four.” 

He raised his head and looked across the street, where a stack of apartments crouched. In front of them was a faded sign that labeled them as Bristow Apartments.

He pressed the button again and said, his voice tight, “Ten ninety-seven.”

“Ten-four, 403. Back on main.”

Jean attempted to switch the frequency back to the main channel. He fumbled with it, and by the time he was successful a garbled voice had already started feeding through the radio. As it clicked into place, Levi’s voice became clear.

“…five minutes. Don’t go in until I’m there.”

Jean was torn between gratitude that Levi had his back and shame that the Captain thought he was no longer capable of doing his job without backup. He wasn’t helpless. He was still an officer, and a damn good one. He could handle one fucking call on his own.

“403,” snapped Levi through the radio. “Do you copy?”

“Ten-four, 401,” said Jean. He returned the radio speaker to the hook dangling from his rearview and popped open his car door. One boot was on the asphalt before he realized it had started drizzling rain. It spattered lightly against his face and he automatically put a hand over his earpiece although he knew it was waterproof.

He eased his car door shut silently before rounding the front bumper and crossing the street. The sidewalks were vacant. The caller probably hadn’t called 911 until she was already in her car and well away from the apartments. Several lights were visible in the windows of the Bristow comlex, but that was typical. This was government housing. He assumed that many people living there didn’t work so it didn’t particularly matter if they stayed up all night.

Jean had been there on more occasions than he could count for calls that ranged from domestics to drug deals to the occasional public indecency. On one notable occasion there had been a murder by stabbing in the back parking lot. They’d gotten the guy the next day. He didn’t even have a chance to get away with it.

Unlike Jean, who had gotten away with his own murder quite successfully.

“Headquarters, 404,” said Eren in Jean’s ear. “En route to Bristow. ETA six minutes.”

“Ten-four, 404.”

Of course Eren fucking Jaeger was coming to babysit him. Jaeger, who was in the process of stealing Jean’s ex-boyfriend. Jaeger, who thought he deserved to have everything that Jean couldn’t.

As Jean reached the staircase he shook the toxic, nonsensical thoughts out of his head. The bitterness was unwarranted. Jaeger was his best friend, as embarrassed as he was to admit it. He wasn’t resentful at him for anything, especially not the Armin situation. Jean hoped they started dating. He hoped they made each other happy. Both of them deserved it.

He was just trying to distract himself from what he was doing, from the fact that he was approaching the door at the end of the hall with a cracked number 15 nailed to the front. He was trying to distract himself from the fact that he was blatantly disregarding Levi’s orders. 

He was trying to distract himself from the fact that the last time he was on a call where a weapon was involved he’d killed someone.

Jean should have waited for Eren and Levi. He knew he should have. Instead he knocked on the door and stepped to the side, not lingering in the doorway. That was where officers tended to get shot.

A moment passed before he heard movement on the other side, shuffling footsteps that sounded slow and heavy. A chain rattled, the doorknob turned, but before it was opened a gruff voice said, “Janet?”

“Trost Police,” said Jean. His hand went to the grip of his Glock automatically but he released it just as quickly. The texture felt wrong against his palm. “Are you Mr. Oakes?”

There was a slight pause before the voice burst into a yell. “The fuck are you doing? I haven’t done anything, I haven’t done _nothing_. I told her not to leave, I told her bad things would happen, I warned her, I _warned her_.”

“Just calm down, sir,” said Jean, raising his voice to be heard clearly through the door. He kept his eyes on the handle, waiting for it to be yanked open. “You’re not in any trouble. I just came by to make sure you’re alright. Someone is worried about you. Why don’t you step into the hall and talk to me so I can make sure everything is okay?”

“Bitch,” the man hissed. His voice was slightly muffled, as if his face was pressed against the door. “Bitch, bitch, bitch… I warned her. I warned her. I didn’t do anything to her, I tried to tell her. She thinks I’m wrong, but I’m not. They told me it was going to happen, they told me I couldn’t do anything about it but they’re wrong, they’re wrong. When they come I’ll be ready. I’ll be safe. They were wrong, wrong, _wrong_.”

Clearly the ‘mental problems’ part of the call was accurate. 

“When who comes?” said Jean. “Has someone threatened you? Step out here and tell me about it, I’ll be glad to help you.”

“ _Them_ ,” said the man. “The ones who hunt. They’ll be here, they’ll try to take me, but I won’t go. I’m ready for those bastards. I warned her.”

Yep, definitely straight out of crazy town.

“Sir, no one is coming to hurt you.”

There was silence on the other side of the door. Jean would have thought the man had retreated farther inside the apartment except he knew he would hear those footsteps clomping around.

“Did they send you?” the man finally said, the whisper barely audible.

“No one sent me,” said Jean. “I’m here to help you.”

“That’s what they would say,” said the man. “That’s what they would tell me, they’d try to get me out so they could take me but they’re wrong, I’m ready for them, I’m not going _anywhere_.”

“Sir, please-”

The door rattled and Jean stepped back, hand again wrapping around the butt of his gun. This time he didn’t let himself release it. Instead he yanked it out of its holster and raised it in front of him, the movement automatic, ingrained into his brain from years of training.

The man had emerged with his own weapon. It was a rusty old revolver that shook in the man’s grip. It wasn’t pointed directly at Jean, but it wasn’t held safely away, either. It hovered somewhere around Jean’s feet, the man’s crazed eyes darting from Jean’s gun to his face to the wall behind his head. 

“Put the gun down,” said Jean, nearly choking on the words he hoped he’d never have to repeat. His weapon was shaking just as badly as the other man’s, the barrel wavering from a consistent tremble. “Sir, drop the gun.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” he said. The man’s thumb was on the hammer, a thick finger curled into the trigger guard. “I told them I’m not going. I told her. I warned her.”

“I don’t want to take you anywhere,” said Jean. He tried to ignore the waver in his voice that matched that of his hands. “Please just drop it. Let’s just talk about this.”

Levi’s voice was in his ear again. “Headquarters, 401. Ten ninety-seven.”

Captain was here. He had probably parked beside Jean’s cruiser and was wondering where the hell he had gone. If Jean had just kept his ass in the car for five more minutes…

“I’m not going.”

“That’s fine,” said Jean, “That’s great. You don’t have to. You can stay here until you die for all I care.”

That was the wrong word choice. As soon as the word ‘die’ drifted onto the air between them, the man peeled his lips back, exposing teeth spotted with specks of brown. He started talking again but many of the words ran together into an unintelligible ramble. Jean only made out the last few, just as the barrel of the revolver shifted, leveling toward Jean’s chest. “ _Kill you before you take me_.”

That was the cue. That was when Jean should have fired a shot. That was when he should have employed the necessary force required to protect himself and everyone else in the building. 

But the only things he could see were eyes and a body and _blood_ , so much blood, running everywhere in hot rivulets, covering his hands, soaking into his pores.

His finger was on the trigger but he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t do it again.

Jean started to lower his gun, hoping that the removal of the threat would appease the man.

He forgot that the man was completely insane and nothing logical would satisfy him.

Before Jean’s gun had completed the downward arc a shot was fired, deafening in the close space.

Pain tore through him like claws. He stumbled back, hit the wall, and dropped to the ground with a cry that didn’t make it past his throat. Everything hurt, everything was hot, his body was on _fire_.

His eyes were closed and he couldn’t see anything, but he knew there was blood. He could feel it. There was blood, but it was his. Somehow that was better, even with the pain that ripped into him like the teeth of starving wolves.

This was how it had to happen. Jean had asked for this.

This was what he deserved.


	38. Chapter 38

Jean distantly heard Levi yelling, as if the Captain was still outside. But when he cracked his eyes open he saw Levi through a crimson haze. He was just down the hall, weapon drawn.

“You son of a fucking bitch!” shouted Levi, the words sounding to Jean as if they were crawling through molasses. He pulled the trigger and Jean's attacker fell.

Jean couldn’t see the man from where he was slumped over on the dirty tile, but twin wires were visible stretched across the floor a few inches in front of his face. 

Levi had tased the man instead of shooting him.

The Captain approached, and although Jean knew he was running, it appeared that his limbs were pumping in slow motion. He bypassed Jean, not even pausing to check on him. A moment later a revolver skidded across the floor, out of the crazed man’s reach. The clink of handcuffs followed, everything soundtracked by Levi’s quiet cursing. 

“Headquarters, 401. Send a ten-forty-seven _now_ , officer down.” 

Levi’s voice was beside him and in his ear. Then Captain crouched over him, rolled Jean onto his back, his eyes roaming over Jean's body.

“Kirschtein,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” The single word was a croak, so scratchy that Jean didn’t recognize his own voice.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” snapped Levi, discarding his concern in favor of anger. “I told you to wait, you motherfucking moron. If you wanted to die you should have said so. I’m tempted to fucking kill you myself.”

Captain produced a pocket knife and flicked open the serrated blade. For a second Jean thought Levi really was going to kill him. Then Captain started sawing at the leg of Jean’s pants, slicing off a strip that he wrapped around Jean’s left thigh. He tied it tightly and Jean winced beneath the pain that crackled like bloody electricity. With the wound bound, Levi focused again on Jean’s face, his scowl so sharp that Jean closed his eyes so it wouldn’t cut him.

“Look at me, Kirschtein.” Levi slapped him in the face. “You’re not allowed to pass out.”

Jean couldn’t muster the energy to press a hand to his stinging cheek. He just obliged the order and forced his eyes open again. Everything was still a little fuzzy, his vision edged with scarlet. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words passing through numb lips. 

“Save it, asshole. I don’t want your shitty apology. You did this to yourself. You should’ve told me you weren’t fucking ready.” Levi pressed the speaker perched on his shoulder. “Where’s that fucking forty-seven?”

“En route, 401,” said the flustered voice of the dispatcher.

“Headquarters, 404, ten-ninety-seven.” That was Eren’s voice, rushed and barely intelligible. 

“Stay downstairs and wait for the forty-seven,” said Levi. 

“What?” said Eren's voice. His tone changed as he suddenly forgot all radio etiquette. “The fuck? I have to see how bad he is, I can’t just fucking-”

Levi compressed the button on his radio, the interference cutting off Eren’s protest. When he stopped trying to argue Levi spoke.

“That’s an order, 404,” he said. “Don’t come up unless you have a medic with you.”

Eren didn’t respond, but Jean knew he would do as he was told. They all knew not to disobey Levi when he was serious.

“Captain,” said Jean. He flailed around with his arm until he made contact, his weak grip looping around Levi’s ankle. “Marco’s working tonight. Don’t let him see me. Make sure it’s a different medic, any of them. Please.”

“You’re not in a position to be picky, Kirschtein,” said Levi. “You’ll take what you can fucking get or you’ll bleed out in this nasty-ass hallway.”

There was a groan from nearby, the sound of rustling. Levi rose from his crouch and vanished from Jean’s sphere of vision. There was a muffled sound of impact, resultant quiet, and then Levi was back. 

He dropped onto his knees again and pressed a hand against the hole that had been ripped through Jean's leg.

Jean hissed through his teeth, clenching his eyes shut. _“Fuck.”_

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” said Levi, applying more searing pressure. Levi had slipped on a pair of gloves to keep the blood off of his hands. It was necessary to try and stop the bleeding, but Jean also thought Levi was probably enjoying causing him pain. “It fucking should, you idiot.”

“Headquarters, 402. Ten ninety-seven.”

Mikasa.

“402, get up here,” said Levi. 

Jean could imagine the look on Eren’s face. He would be absolutely outraged.

“They’ll be here in a couple minutes,” said Levi. 

“Not Marco.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirschtein.”

A moment later Mikasa was there, evaluating the situation with cool detachment. 

“What do you want me to do with him?” she asked, indicating the tased man who was still silent.

“Just leave him,” said Levi. “After they get Kirschtein the next medic can drag him out of here.”

“I passed the ambulance on my way,” said Mikasa. “They should be right behind me.”

As if on cue Eren came thundering up the stairs, nearly pushing Levi aside as he dropped onto the floor beside Jean.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted, his voice ringing too loudly in Jean’s ears. 

“Tone it down, Jaeger,” said Levi, craning his head as the medics came up the stairs. “Don’t make a fucking scene.”

“Kirschtein’s the one making a fucking scene,” Eren snapped back, though his voice was significantly lower. “You had to go and get shot to get back on the news. You’re such a fucking attention whore.”

Jean’s laugh caught in his throat and came out as more of a choking sound. 

“Calm down, Eren,” said Mikasa, her fingers curling around his shoulder. “He’s fine. Move so the medics can take care of him.”

Eren grumbled but did as she asked, backing against the opposite wall and granting access to the uniformed paramedics.

Jean held his breath and they came into view, his nausea building as he envisioned Marco’s reaction to his situation. He should have been comforted by the fact that he didn’t distinctly recognize the medics, but the nausea didn’t go away.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. “I’m going to puke.”

Levi was gone instantly, the pressure on Jean’s leg vanishing. One of the medics expertly rolled Jean onto his side as the vomit spewed out of his mouth, spraying onto the filthy floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, spitting weakly. “Sorry.”

One of the medics wiped his mouth and then they lifted him onto the waiting stretcher. The movement jostled his leg and it felt like someone had whacked him with a pickaxe. He bit down on a scream but a garbled groan still emerged.

They started asking him questions, the same ones he’d heard hundreds of times as they’d carted victims away from crime scenes. Jean had always watched them go with a distinct gratitude that he wasn’t the one who would be confined to a hospital bed.

Now he was on the receiving end and he did not approve.

They had just loaded him into the ambulance when Jean heard the voice shouting his name, raw and desperate.

He’d been buckled onto the stretcher so he couldn’t move, but he heard someone leap into the back of the vehicle and a moment later the medic prepping his IV moved aside. A freckled face came into view, its expression so crushed that for a brief second Jean’s chest hurt worse than his leg.

“Marco,” he said, voice weak from pain and emotion. 

“Oh my god, _Jean_ …”

“I’m sorry,” said Jean. He felt like repeating the words a hundred times, a thousand times, but knew it wouldn’t make a difference. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Are you okay? Oh my god, what happened?”

Even if Jean had possessed enough breath to relay the events, he wouldn’t have wanted to. He didn’t want Marco to know he'd done this to himself, with his own negligence. He didn’t want Marco to know that he could no longer do his job, that he could no longer do _anything_.

“We’re ready to go, Marco,” said Jean’s medic. He’d circled to the other side. He straightened Jean’s arm and pressed a needle into the crook of his elbow. “We have to get him to the ER. The bullet probably shattered his femur. He might need surgery.”

“Then go!” said Marco. “I’m riding with you.”

“Medic!” Levi’s shout was sharp, close. Jean raised his head just enough to see Captain standing at the open doors of the ambulance. “Get your ass out here and do your job. Kirschtein is fine.”

“What?” said Marco, taken aback by Levi’s demeanor. “You don’t understand, I-”

“You’re his boyfriend, great, whatever,” said Levi. “You’re also on duty and there’s an asshole laid out in the hallway upstairs that has two taser barbs buried in his ribs and probably a concussion. Now suck it up, get your shit together, and come the fuck on.”

Marco was clearly torn. He looked from Levi to Jean, eyes wide and full of pain.

“I’m fine, Marco,” Jean rasped, trying to make the words sound reassuring. “Whatever they’re giving me is just going to put me to sleep anyway. I’m not going to know the difference.”

“But I will.”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

“Medic, move your ass,” snapped Levi.

“Okay,” said Marco. “Alright. I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I can, Jean.”

“I’m not worried about it,” he said, waving away the concern. He pretended the thought of lying in a hospital bed alone didn’t make him want to tear his hair out. “Do what you have to do. I’ll live.”

“You’d better,” Marco mumbled, bending to press a quick kiss on Jean’s forehead before hopping out of the ambulance. He stormed past Levi without even looking at him, face set into a scowl that was very unlike Marco. 

“I’m following you guys there,” Levi said to the medic still working on Jean. He slammed the rear doors shut, trapping Jean in a mobile box with a couple of medics and about a hundred syringes. 

He would’ve been anxious about the entire situation, but whatever they’d inserted into his IV was already beginning to float into his bloodstream. His leg still hurt and he still gritted his teeth against the pain, but his mind was beginning to drift. Things were becoming fuzzy, feathered, distant.

And soon everything was gone.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me. It's been a long ride.

The next thing Jean remembered was waking up in the inevitable hospital bed. He felt awful, like he’d been hit by a train. He laid there for a while with his eyes closed, torturing himself with the memories of the event as they gradually floated back in full, agonizing detail.

Levi had been right. He was such a fucking idiot.

He groaned and the sound hurt his throat. It was so dry, like his esophagus had been wallpapered with shredded cotton. 

He wanted to just lay there with his eyes closed and hope that he would wake up elsewhere, but knew that was just delaying the inevitable. So he pried open his eyelids to face his fate.

Misery didn’t look quite as awful as he’d expected.

Marco had dragged over a chair and was asleep with his arms folded on the edge of Jean’s bed, hunched over at an angle that must have been extremely uncomfortable. He was still wearing his medic uniform. Jean wondered if he’d stayed there after his shift or if less time had passed than he’d expected. Maybe it had only been a couple of hours. 

Then he saw the rings beneath Marco’s eyes that looked like bruises. 

It had been more than a couple of hours.

He hated to wake him up, especially since he looked like he could use the sleep, but Jean needed to know how long it had been. He needed to know what had happened. A white sheet covered him from the waist down and he was too much of a coward to pull it off and see for himself. It looked like there were two legs beneath the sheet so maybe he at least hadn’t become an amputee.

“Marco?” he rasped quietly, reaching to weakly brush his fingers through the medic’s hair. “Hey, wake up.”

It took a moment too long for Marco to regain consciousness. He must have been exhausted. When he did, he raised his head and blinked, not quite comprehending that it was Jean speaking to him. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” said Jean.

Marco didn’t respond, just blankly looked at him.

“I know I look like shit,” said Jean. “You don’t have to stare at me like that.”

A smile cracked Marco’s face, and although it was weary and watered down, it was familiar. 

“You look great, Jean.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“I’m not lying. How do you feel?”

“I’d feel worse if you weren’t here.”

Marco smiled. “That’s not what you said the last time you woke up.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You told me to go home and leave you alone. You said you wanted to die in peace.”

Jean snorted. “That’s so dramatic. I would never say that.”

Marco laughed, but it wasn’t because Jean was funny. It was a laugh of relief. He sat up straighter and stretched, his back popping as he threw his arms overhead. When he collapsed back down he reached for Jean’s hand, squeezing it beneath freckle-dusted knuckles. “Because you’d never be dramatic. That’s so unlike you.”

Jean started to roll his eyes but stopped immediately when a potential headache pulsed behind his eyes. “So what’s the verdict? Am I going to live?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be fine. They had to do surgery, though. You have a metal rod in your leg now. Most people hate things like that but I thought you might think it’s pretty cool.”

Jean frowned down at the lump beneath the sheets that was his freshly reconstructed leg. “So I’m like five percent cyborg. That is cool.” 

“And ninety-five percent dork.” Marco squeezed Jean’s hand once before withdrawing his arm and standing. He paced across the room and for a moment Jean nearly panicked, afraid he was leaving. Then Marco returned with a Styrofoam cup half full of water. Jean took it in a shaking hand and sipped on it, the lukewarm liquid soothing his throat. 

“Thanks.”

Marco refilled the cup and placed it by Jean’s bed before resuming his seat. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Since we dropped off the guy that shot you.” Something flickered across Marco’s face, a bitterness that was unnatural on his features.

“How long ago was that?”

“A couple of days.”

Jean stared at him. “Have you even gone home?”

“Well, uh, no… I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

“You’re a medic. You knew I was going to be okay.”

“Knowing that and seeing it are two different things.”

Jean sighed and tried to suppress his exasperation. Marco cared. He should be grateful, and he was. He just felt like shit for being such an inconvenience. It was his own fault he was here. Marco shouldn’t have to suffer because of that.

“Eren’s been here, too,” said Marco. “He had to leave a little while ago to go back to work. He told me to call him if anything happened.”

“Jaeger,” Jean mumbled. “What an idiot.”

“Levi stopped by too,” said Marco. His brows furrowed, forehead wrinkling. “All he talks about is how stupid you are but I think he’s worried.”

“Maybe, but I really am stupid.” He glanced at Marco and then back down at the sheets bunched around his waist. “I guess he told you what happened.”

“He and Chief Smith reviewed the footage on your bodycam yesterday. So yes, he told me what happened.”

Of course the fucking bodycam would work when Jean didn’t need it.

Jean sighed and slumped back further into the bed. His leg ached a little but it was a distant sensation. He was probably still loaded up with painkillers. 

“You just need more time,” said Marco. He found Jean’s hand again and laced their fingers together. “You went back too soon. It’s going to take you a while to recover from this, but maybe after that-”

“No.” The single word was strong. “I don’t need time. I don’t _want_ time. I don’t want to do this anymore, Marco, not any of it. I don’t want to be an officer. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

He stared down at their intertwined hands, fighting against the tears pressing at the back of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of Marco again. He already looked vulnerable. If Marco thought he was too fragile he might leave. 

For a moment Marco didn’t speak. He just held Jean’s hand, his thumb ghosting over Jean’s pale knuckles. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the side of Jean’s head. 

“Then you don’t have to,” he said, still so close to Jean that he could feel the whispered breath against his cheek. “You don’t have to go back.”

“They’ll think I’m scared.”

“No, they won’t.” Marco squeezed Jean’s hand even more tightly until he lifted his face to meet his eyes. “They’re your friends, Jean. They’ll understand.”

“I don’t know what else I can do,” said Jean. All of the worries and fears hit him at once, pounding into his brain like a sledgehammer. He felt the moisture building at the corners of his eyes. The next time he blinked it spilled over, trickling down his face. “I’ve never done anything else. I’m not good at anything else. I’ll just be floating around fucking something up and I’ll see all of them out patrolling like I’m supposed to be and I just don’t know what to _do_ , Marco.”

It sounded like a plea, like he was begging for a solution. Marco pried his hand away from Jean’s grip and raised it to stroke through his mess of blond hair instead. 

“You can do anything you want,” he said. “Anything.”

A heavy silence stretched on for a moment. Jean battled against the sobs growing in his chest. He wouldn’t let himself cry, he wouldn’t make himself look even frailer than he actually was. Marco was strong, he’d always been strong, and Jean needed to be the same way.

“If you think you need to get away for a while,” Marco finally said, his voice low, “away from the city, we can go to Jinae. My mom left her house to us and my sisters don’t have any use for it. We can stay there for a while. You can get a fresh start and figure everything out there. No one there knows you. You won’t feel judged or pressured. You can do whatever you want.”

Jean was tempted to jump on that offer. He wanted to get away. He’d seen the way that people in this city looked at him. They recognized him from the news, recognized him as a killer. He didn’t want to be looked at like that anymore. He couldn’t stand it.

But he also didn’t know if he could leave behind the good things; specifically Jaeger and Levi and Mikasa and even Armin. They had been there for him. He didn’t want to abandon them.

They would probably understand, though. They would understand how Jean felt. They would want him to do what was best for himself.

He just wasn’t sure what that was.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I should.”

“That’s fine,” said Marco. “You can think about it. I’m going to be here for you Jean, whether it’s in Trost or Jinae. You’re the only thing I’m worried about. I just want you to be happy.”

Jean wasn’t sure what good he’d done in his life to deserve having someone like Marco Bodt care about him. He wasn’t a decent enough person to earn Marco’s affection. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“Probably a few more days.”

Jean bit down on a groan. “Fuck. I hate hospitals.” He rolled his head to one side, staring up at Marco. “My mom died in one, you know. She had cancer.” He knew that Marco would say something comforting or sympathetic, so Jean kept talking so he wouldn’t have the chance. “Luckily my boyfriend is a medic. Maybe they’ll let me out early since you can probably keep me alive.”

Marco looked torn between Jean’s confession about his mother and his attempt at humor. In the end he made a face that was caught somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “I can probably keep you alive? Thanks for having so much faith in me.”

Jean smiled back and the motion cracked his dry lips. He struggled to sit up and Marco immediately moved to help him. 

“Is my phone here somewhere?” said Jean. “I need to call Levi.”

“Of course,” said Marco. He crouched and started digging through a bag on the floor that was likely filled with the possessions Jean had been equipped with when he’d been admitted. After a moment Marco produced a cell phone and handed it to Jean. “What are you going to tell him?”

“That he needs to start looking for my replacement,” said Jean, tapping at the screen on his phone. “And that Sasha is his best bet.”

Marco’s hand wrapped gently around Jean’s wrist just before he could initiate the call.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” he said. “I don’t want you to make any decisions you’re going to regret later. If you think you’ll change your mind then wait and see if you feel the same way in a few days. You just woke up, after all.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” Jean dropped his free hand on top of Marco’s and squeezed. “I didn’t want to go back to patrol in the first place. I just did it because I felt like I had to. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“I know. And this is the one I want to make.”

Marco nodded and peeled his grip away. “Okay then. I’ll step into the hall so you can have some privacy. I might go to the snack machine, it’s been a while since I ate. I’d offer you something but they haven’t cleared you for solid food yet.”

Jean only acknowledged the part about Marco leaving.

“But you’re coming back, right?” he said. He felt shitty for being so clingy. Marco needed to go home and get some sleep but Jean couldn’t bear the thought of being there without him. 

So fucking selfish.

“Of course, Jean. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He bent and pressed his mouth lightly against Jean’s dry, cracked lips. When he pulled back three words touched his lips, words that Jean didn’t quite understand until Marco had already crossed the room and vanished into the hallway.

Jean stared after him, the feeling of Marco still tingling on his lips.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. It was almost impossible that something as good as Marco had come out of so much suffering. Jean wasn’t good enough for Marco and he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be. 

But he would spend the rest of his life trying.


End file.
